


Light & Casual

by Six_Lily_Petals



Series: A World without Magic [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amputation, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, BDSM, Baby Dragon, Body Image, Body Worship, Characters in modern age, Depression, Dragons, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, I'll be damned there's art!, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Masturbation, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Multiple Partners, Non-Penetrative Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Shameless Smut, Some Plot, Suicidal Thoughts, Switching, Torture, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 131,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Lily_Petals/pseuds/Six_Lily_Petals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern day Major is thrown into the world of Thedas and having lived a life that was not amenable to long term relationships, she is happy with taking what she can get with no strings attached.</p><p>The Iron Bull is immediately fascinated by the new addition to the Inquisition and can only accurately describe her as "sex looking for a place to happen.”</p><p>-OR-<br/>How much smut can I fit into one story?<br/>NSFW chapters:<br/>04-Krem x OC<br/>05-Dorian x OC (ish)<br/>06-Dorian x M!Inquisitor<br/>08-Iron Bull x OC<br/>09-Iron Bull x Cullen<br/>11-Iron Bull x OC<br/>12-Dorian x M!Inquisitor<br/>14-Iron Bull x OC<br/>15-Cullen x Alistair<br/>18-Cullen x Dorian x M!Inquisitor<br/>20-Cassandra x Josephine<br/>21-Iron Bull x OC<br/>22-Iron Bull x OC x anon. male<br/>23-Cullen x M!Hawke</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A World without Magic

Warm, soft bedding, Maker, when was the last time he slept in such a luxurious embrace?  Dorian rolled to his side, grinning into the pillow as his body relaxed further until an icy bolt of sheer panic shot through him. The pace of his heart jumped, his fear impossible to control.  He shot upright, sweat forming while he attempted to calm his breathing.  He mentally reached out and…

nothing. 

He was cut off from the Fade.  Trembling fingers ran over his body, his clothes already beginning to cling to his damp skin, looking for an explanation.  Perhaps a rune or collar or, or _something_ that would explain…that would give him hope this wasn’t a new permanence he’d have to live with.  A small comfort he held onto was the fact that he felt fear.  Emotions were good, terror was good, they meant he wasn’t tranquil.

A small light from outside his pitch-dark room caught his attention.  Sliding his legs over the bed, the cushioned carpeting beneath his feet jolted his memory - he should be in Ferelden.  Where could he possibly be that was wealthy enough to afford such superfluous decor?  Why would they have brought him here to begin with? 

The doorway from the bedroom led to a large open space.  Furniture for a sitting area was neatly arranged on the left, a small table for four was tucked into an alcove and then a whole corner was dedicated to bookshelves and a desk to the far right.  The light source was a globe on the desk, the steady rays were more constant than veilfire.  He wanted desperately to feel the flow of magic that created the light, but again, he was met with emptiness.  Curiosity at where he was gave Dorian the idea to rifle through the desk for any clues. 

Passing by the bookshelves, he read a few titles - Supplying War: Logistics from Wallenstein to Patton, Machiavelli’s The Prince, On War by Clausewitz, The General’s War: The Inside Story of the Conflict in the Gulf, National Strategy for Combating Terrorism, Cybersecurity and Cyberwar, The Complexity of Modern Asymmetric Warfare.  _I’m either in the home of a scholar or a well-educated warmonger._ The authors were unfamiliar, but then he had never been one to study tomes on the art of war.  Behind the desk, the wall was adorned with framed certificates, accolades decorated with brightly colored ribbons and dangling metal trinkets that bespoke of military accomplishments.  _Ah, warmonger it is!_

 The more he began to absorb his surroundings, the more he questioned his sanity.  He would have thought himself in the Fade were it not for the lack of magic.  The strangeness of his environment was unsettling. 

The desk was less than helpful.  It was sparsely decorated with wholly foreign objects that gave little indication as to their use.  Thankfully paper and ink were used, but the odd notes were merely reminders to accomplish a series of trivial tasks.  Giving up on the desk, Dorian looked up, scanning the room to find another approach.  That was when the floor to ceiling windows registered in his mind. 

Since waking up, everything had been so foreign, so disorienting that it was a laborious task to process everything that was around him and yet, how did he miss this?  In an awed silence, he walked to the transparent wall, placing a hand to the glass.  Fabricated lights, similar to one on the desk, dotted the landscape in the night’s darkness by the millions.  Some areas were brightly illuminated by compact arrangements.  Here and there, the light was colored.  The sight was beyond the wildest imaginings of the Fade.  Buildings taller than the Spire itself were numerous throughout the world beyond.  Looking down he realized that he was quite high up and he subconsciously stepped back.  He could make out movements that were surely people, but he was unable to discern anything that would identify them as one nationality over another.  Given his present circumstances, he was certain that even if he were nose to nose with them, he could never guess his present location.   Now that he was standing so near the glass, he could hear the rumblings and noises of the busy goings on beyond the dwelling. 

“Do you like the view?”

Instinctively, Dorian’s body tried to prime a barrier spell.  The nothingness he was met with felt like falling unexpectedly when miscalculating the number of stairs. The sinking feeling stayed with him, leaving him tense.  His chest tightened with grief.  The question had been asked by a woman, around his age, with flaming red hair and dressed in a loose long sleeved blue tunic and matching pants. 

Dorian’s nerves got the better of him and he hastened into demands, heedless of the fact he was at a distinct disadvantage in this place.  “What have you done to me?  Why am I here?”

His accusation was met with genuine confusion.  “I found you in a field after an explosion.  I brought you home since your injuries were not severe.”

Dorian swirled his tongue in his mouth trying to fight the dryness caused by his body’s panicked state.  He drew on his physical strength to utter the dreaded words.  “Is this…is this another form of tranquility?”

“I don’t know what that means.”  She spoke to him in a gentle tone.  Dorian recognized it as one used when attempting to calm a spooked horse or frightened child.  “I think we may be having a communication problem.  Can you provide me some more details, perhaps then I can give a better answer.”

“I am a mage!  I should be able to touch the Fade, and now I find that I am cut off!”

“A mage?  As in magic?”

“Did I stutter?  Yes, mages do tend to use magic!  Rather difficult habit to break.  It’s all part of the frightening disposition for which we are often admonished.  What else would you expect?”  His desire for self-preservation was losing to his temper.  He couldn’t live like this, Maker how could anyone live like this? 

The woman did not answer immediately, clearly lost to a thought before she turned from him and went to the other side of the living area.  She picked up his staff and walked toward him.  Dorian didn’t hesitate.  He rushed to her immediately to retrieve his property.  The second his fingers came into contact with the intricate piece of rune and crystal imbued craftsmanship he could feel it.  He clutched it tight to his body, hoping to make the connection stronger with a greater contact surface.  Closing his eyes in concentration, he could sense the fade.  It wasn’t enough to cast a spell.  It was only a drip where there once was an ocean, but it was there.  Dorian leaned his head back and found that it met with the cushioned back of the couch.  He hadn’t realized he sat down. 

“Do you feel better?”

 _I am whole.  By the merciful Maker, I am whole._   “Yes.”  They sat in silence.  Dorian was content to feel the trickle of comfort that was forced through his staff with great difficulty.  The woman was patient, never rushing him.  She sat content to divide her time between watching him or gazing out the wall of glass.  With his nerves under better control, Dorian could finally spare some attention on understanding his current situation.  The last memory was of the battle at Haven.  The Inquisition was evacuating while he and a few others fought Corypheus and his Void forsaken dragon. 

Cullen was struck down hard in his attempt to draw attention away from the Herald who had been re-aiming the trebuchets to bury the monster and its Magister master.  Dorian ran to Cullen’s side to stop a second attack from the dragon that would have undoubtedly killed the disabled Commander.

Then…

“Where am I?” 

The woman turned her head from the windows to answer, her voice was warm.  “I’m not sure where you came from, but this world is not it.  I saw the sky rip open, a mountain range covered in snow, a dragon.”  She looked to him for confirmation, which he gave as a nod.  “I could hear fighting, but could not see it, then you two fell through.”

“We two?”

“Yes, a blond headed man was with you.”

“Cullen?  He’s here?  Is he alright?”

“I am waiting on word from the hospital.”  She elaborated at Dorian’s blank stare.  “When he came through, he was seriously injured.  He was taken to a place where he could receive medical attention.”  A saddened, empathetic look came to rest on her face.  “The last I heard, his heart was crushed and several ribs broken.  A transplant was found, but it is never certain if it will take.”

“A transplant?  Do…no.  Are you telling me that your healers are going to take the heart of another person and, and… _put_ it into the Commander?!  What sort of sick barbarians are you?!”

“What other option is there?  Would you rather he die?”  She never rose her tone to meet with his level of intensity.  Dorian recognized the tactic as one his father used to control arguments, namely with him.  He _hated_ it and intentionally escalated his line of attack.

“Better than to butcher an innocent!  You are as demonic as blood mages!” Rising to his feet, he stalked up to her, he banged his staff on the floor and was actually able to produce a few pathetic sparks. 

“Easy!”  She stood, holding her hands up defensively.  “We’re not killing anyone for your friend’s benefit.  It is common practice in our society that people volunteer to donate organs and tissues to save lives _after_ they are dead.”

Dorian resorted to pacing hoping it would help to better process the concept.  He didn’t see how bad the injuries were, if there was anything he could have done.  In his current state he couldn’t do anything and the added fact he wasn’t a healer made him even more useless in that regard.  Still, he couldn’t brush off the idea that Cullen was being cared for by what amounted to butchers playing surgeon.   Dorian spoke over his shoulder, “Are you certain there was no other way he could be healed?”

“Doc told me that one of the heart’s chambers had popped open.  Could your magic have repaired that?”

“No.  I…I don’t believe so.”  Solas came to mind immediately.  He doubted even the eccentric apostate was skillful enough to repair an organ with that type of damage.  He had witnessed muscles and skin stitched together with weaves of magic and didn’t doubt that a similar method would have been used on Cullen.  However, organs were a special beast unto themselves.  Magic could have pieced him together, but there was no certainty that his heart would continue to function.  The reality of this world finally dawned on him.  There was no magic.  There was no connection with the Fade at all. 

“A world without magic.”  Saying the words out loud solidified it into his awareness.  He gripped his staff tighter, threading the little mana that it produced through his fingers, similar to how a child wraps himself in a security blanket.  He needed the reassurance of the small connection or he’d go mad.

“You are right.  From my perspective, magic is the stuff of fantasy novels.”

“But the light without fire, the buildings…how are they accomplished?” 

“Sonny.  Illuminate.”  The entire area was instantly lit with better clarity than a midday sun.  “Science, innovation – a thorough study of the world around us and how things work.  Before we are too distracted, may I ask your name?”

"Ah, my apologies for the lapse in manners.  The whole, kidnapped by a non-magical society has me quite disoriented.”  He flourished a polite bow.  “I am Lord Dorian of House Pavus most recently of Minrathous.”

An amused smile followed as she offered her hand, which Dorian took, but she determined the strength of the handshake.  “Praxis.” 

He quirked an eyebrow at the basic introduction.  “Simply Praxis is it?”

“Yes, I’m military so I tend to respond better to my last name.”   

 _So this is my warmonger.  _More questions were budding in his mind.  Before he could choose where to begin, he was interrupted by a series of chimes.  The woman turned to a piece of framed obsidian over the fireplace and spoke to it, “Sonny.  Answer call.”  The frame illuminated with the image of a man in pale, pastel green clothing.  He looked exhausted.

“I assumed you’d still be up.”  The man seemed to peer through the frame and into the room.  It was only under his scrutiny that Dorian took stock of his own wardrobe - a black silk shirt and matching trousers that reached the floor.    “Who’s that with you?” 

With a slight gesture of her hand, she acknowledged Dorian.  “This is Dorian Pavus, our John Doe’s brother.  His actual name is Cullen.”

“Ah.  Good.  Hopefully now that we have his real name I can get the nurses to quit calling him Adonis.”  Praxis laughed.  Apparently there was a hidden meaning in the nickname.  The man ran his hand through his disheveled hair.  “The surgery went well, better than expected.  I don’t anticipate any complications since we were able to find a perfect match.  Your brother is quite healthy and well built.  That will help.”

Dorian stepped closer, not wanting to have his question go unheard.  “When can I see him?”

“You’re welcome to come by the hospital during visiting hours, but we will keep him sedated for the next day or so at a minimum.  It’s easier for us to monitor him for signs of rejection that way.” 

There was a possibility that Cullen may not survive after all.  Dorian felt like a complete ass.  His first thoughts at hearing that the Commander was not out of danger yet were that he’d be left alone in a strange world instead of for the well-being of the Inquisition’s Commander.  Fasta Vass, the Inquisition!  He impatiently waited for the conversation between the healer and Praxis to come to an end so he could find out what else she had seen before his arrival.  They spoke of upcoming work schedules and new training demands placed on the military base. 

Once the frame turned black again, Dorian sprung his readied questions at Praxis.  “What else did you see before my arrival?  Was the dragon killed?  What about the monster that was with it?  Did you see if anyone survived?”

She stepped back at his verbal assault.  “I saw the dragon fly away holding some red creature in its claws.  Then everything was buried in an avalanche.”

Dorian’s anxiety thrust his hands at her, grasping her shoulders in an attempt to force her memories to surface with greater clarity.  “There were others fighting with us, did you happen to see if they made it?” 

A slight shake of her head sent his heart plummeting, his arms fell to his sides.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything other than a wave of snow.”

Dorian slouched back down on the couch next to his staff.  His fingers absentmindedly ghosted over the surface to feel the faint traces of the world he left behind.  “So what happens now?”

“I’ve been thinking about that since you mentioned the use of magic.”  A different set of chimes caused her to reach into a pocket to retrieve a smaller obsidian totem.  Her expression registered the noise as unimportant, she tapped the surface, then pocketed the charm.  “I’m guessing it was magic that brought you through in the first place.  I have scheduled a time tomorrow evening for us to go back to where I found you.  Maybe with your…”  She pointed with an open hand.

“Staff.”

“Staff and you in the original location there may be stronger magic?”  She paused, unsure of her words.  “Does that make sense or am I entirely off base?”

“Actually, yes.  If we came through a tear in the Veil, it’s possible that there is a lingering rip that we could use to pull ourselves back through.  Ah!”  Dorian felt around his neck and retrieved an amulet.  “It may have been this fabulous little charm.  I confiscated it from my old mentor and it’s possible that I unintentionally activated it.  I’ll have to see once we are there.”  Excitement was spreading, hope reinvigorating him.  He wanted to begin work right away but there wasn’t a strong enough flow through the staff to allow him the chance to conduct experiments on the amulet.  “How soon can we go?”

“We have to wait until the evening.  The area is on a live firing range…a testing range for deadly weapons, that will be in use tomorrow.  We have to wait until they are done to walk out there.”  She clasped her hands behind her head and leaned back in the chair.  “You and your friend are fortunate to have arrived when and where you did.  We were conducting field exercises when I saw the tear as you call it.  It was close enough to some of the exploding ordinances that my leadership is convinced that the base is at fault for Cullen’s injuries – hence why he is in military medical care.  I’ve personally worked with a good chunk of the on call docs, they’re good people.  Plus, the location of your tear is in a restricted area so there is no worry that anyone will interfere with what you need to do or see you use your magic.” 

Rubbing his hands on his thighs, he was reminded of his change in attire.  “Where are my robes?  I will need them tomorrow, there are enchantments worked into the fabric that could be helpful.”

“I sent them to be laundered, they were covered in blood.  They should be ready tomorrow.”  She gave an appraising eye.  “Speaking of cleaning up, would you like to take a shower?”

“I’ve been showered with compliments before, however I am thoroughly interested in how you would clean me in such a manner.  You should be careful at what you suggest.  I can be overwhelmingly dashing once I've washed up.”  The thought of something familiar let Dorian finally began to relax.  With a devilish gaze, he teased her.  “You may have to restrain yourself.”

Her full-bodied laugh was a delight and helped Dorian further ease into his old flirtatious habits.  She stood and waved her hand to follow.  “I was unaware your looks could be improved upon."  

“Oh!  You are a delight, and with such good taste!” 

Back into the room where he woke up, a smaller, adjoining room held all the necessities.  She explained the functions at his endless questions until he was satisfied that he was ready for privacy.  "I don't have another change of clothes, so you're stuck with those until my brother comes by in the morning.  Cullen’s recovery could take a few weeks, so I’ve arranged for you to go shopping with my brother-in-law the day after tomorrow.”

The hot shower in the glass stall was the ultimate decadence.  At her insistence, he took his time with no regrets.  Aching muscles were massaged; his entire body was scrubbed and pampered in a way he hadn’t indulged in since leaving the Imperium.  His lungs breathed in the steam and his mind drifted, never resting on any particular thought for long.  More accustomed to a tub, he leaned back against the wall, eventually giving up and simply sliding to the floor to let the hot water sluice over him. 

His mind unfortunately circled back on his inability to feel the Fade.  It created a sickness that hallowed out his insides, chilling his blood.  If he were a child, he may have curled up in a ball and cried at the loss, the bitter helplessness.  He now understood the lack of emotion in Tranquils as a blessing.  No one should have to suffer this.  When the heat of the water started to lose its sting, he reluctantly hauled himself up and out of the shower. 

With refreshed skin, and clear senses, he could better appreciate the soft fabric of his borrowed outfit.  He ruffled a towel over his hair while walking back into the main area of her apartment.  Praxis sat at the desk.  She was staring at one of the larger baubles, her expression changing as she scanned the surface again and again, now and then making notes on paper.  It must work in a similar fashion as the one on the wall and in her pocket, displaying images of particular interest. 

Her intensity sparked his interest.  "I'm curious what has captured your attention so late in the evening.  You should be swooning at my magnificent transformation." 

In the short time that they had been acquainted, he learned early on that she freely displayed her emotions.   Fortunately she tended to be of a happy, carefree disposition.  The openness revealed an honesty that tended to lend itself to implicit trust which reminded him of Cullen.  Dorian now wondered if such traits were encouraged in all militaries.

"It's work.  I'm answering the mail on training schedules, inspections, and whatever random thought that crosses my boss' mind."  She stretched her arms over her head.  "You hungry?"

"Famished, now that you mention it."

"What would you like?  It's before ten so most places are still open."

"I'm not particular"

"Bull. Shit.  No man who spends three quarters of an hour in the bathroom is someone who is 'not particular' about what he eats.  Humor me."

"My, aren't you saucy?  All right."  He pinched at his mustache in thought before deciding.  "I would like a summer sennet meal."

"Describe it to me."

After a few minutes explaining the meats, vegetables and spices, she used her pocket totem to place orders at three establishments that would deliver different portions of the meal. 

Dorian prayed the food was at least palatable, she seemed too proud of her ad hoc fix for him to cause her disappointment.  “I feel that I should admonish your trusting nature.  How would you have guessed that I was so charming and that only my wit is considered deadly?"

She exhaled in an amused sniff that curled her lip up.  "What led you to believe that I am unarmed?"

She reached behind to the small of her back and produced an intricate puzzle of metal in an L shape.  One half fit into her palm, the other ran parallel with her fingers.   With her hand turned downward, she squeezed a finger on the grip, sending the core of the handle sliding out into her waiting palm.  The black metal rectangle was placed on the table, then she pulled on the top to glide a portion of it back, locking it into place as an acorn sized cylinder popped out.  Praxis caught it with a practiced hand.  "You've never seen one of these before have you?"

Dorian shook his head, curious at its lethality.  “These are extremely deadly.  One shot and it’s all over.”

Staring at the pieces on the desk Dorian decided that as quickly as she was able to render it inoperable, she could easily reverse that state faster than he could pose a significant threat, not that he would, but the thought was a bit intimidating.  She was overly generous with her hospitality, but certainly no fool.  A change in subject was desperately needed.

"Do you always work here, connected through...those?"  Dorian vaguely gestured at the desk, not quite sure how many of the objects had a purpose.  Cullen was constantly at work and it seemed this was another universal truth about warfare, no one was ever meant to sleep.

"Yes and no. For emergencies, I'm always available.”  She tapped her pocket that held the black totem.  “I'm the deputy for the mission support functions on base, so if anything happens in the middle of the night, I get notified and sometimes have to respond.  Currently our unit is undergoing an inspection then rolling right into field exercise to meet training requirements that are necessary every three years.  It's a lot of boring coordination that boils down to long nights and constant schedule adjustments."

Dorian scanned the apartment again.  Every time he took in his surroundings, he found something new that wasn’t there before.  His disorientation was lingering longer than was comfortable.  The dwelling was sparse, but had the look of polished refinement with the grey and black scheme and the sharp lines of the furniture.  "Are all the officers appointed such quarters?" 

"No, I spent a little extra on this place since my brother and his family live in town.  I plan on keeping it and eventually coming back once I'm done with my service."  During the short exchange he noticed that her eyes darted between himself and the interactive objects on her desk.  Her fingers constantly danced over a matrix of letters and symbols with the absentminded deftness he had once seen in the market where slaves weaved lace.  The movements so deeply ingrained that the slaves could produce the most exquisite patterns without ever having to look at their work in progress.

Not wanting to be a nuisance, Dorian settled down next to his staff once again.  After a brief wait, a third set of bells sounded.   _Kaffas, there are too many noises.  How does anyone remember each one’s function?_

The interruption signaled that someone was at the door and Praxis answered, then collected the food from the delivery boy.  She spread the food out on a small table and they sat across from one another.  Before they could settle in, the bells rang again to announce the last of the deliveries.  When she sat down again, the close proximity caused Dorian to note that Praxis had scarred skin on the left side of her face and even covering her entire left hand and most likely extended up her arm as well.  He was distracted until Praxis volunteered an answer by clearing her throat. "A few years ago my unit was ambushed.  There was a fire."

No stranger to wounds, he wasn't judgmental about her appearance, however he wondered if the damage would have been as serious if healing magic existed in this world.  Having set himself on fire a few times in his youth, he bore no visible reminders.  One time was all it took for her to be marred for the rest of her life.  Even the most rural areas of Ferelden made use of healing potions.  Dorian forced his mind away from such macabre thoughts.  

The meal was perfection.  He had expected that she would have found a cheaper meat substitute, a more common spice for the vegetables, but this, this was actually the best summer sennet meal he ever had.   The steak was tender to the point he could use a fork to cut into it.  Even when he paid for meat in the south, it never melted in his mouth nor had actual flavor.  The quality of vegetables lent itself well to the crisp al dente style of preparation. 

"I find myself fascinated by your generosity.  Taking a strange man into your home, wining and dining him, what will the neighbors think?"  He flashed a flirtatious grin.

She chuckled to herself, "That you're either gay or already taken."

Dorian actually choked on a bite of food at her comment.  She thrust a glass of water at him to clear his throat.  Once it was certain he would survive, she shook her head, admonishing herself.  "Really?  I knew it.  I should have fucking known that a gorgeous man wouldn't simply fall from the sky into my lap.  I'm guessing from your reaction that both of those conditions apply?”  She slapped her hand on the table.  “I should have fucking known it.  Ugh!  You are just my type - beautiful and unavailable."  With an upward turned head she admonished the ceiling.  “God, you can be a real sick bastard sometimes.” 

While Dorian coughed up the last bits of discomfort with no small amount of laughter, Praxis went to a cabinet to withdrew a large bottle of brandy.  Her work ethic may have aligned well with Cullen’s but her sardonic sense of humor won Dorian over.  _Oh, I like this one._   "If this is how you partake in self-deprecation, then I would beg to join you in your drink.  Do please continue to shower me with praise.  I never tire at how others bask in my magnificence."

She kicked him under the table while pouring two glasses.  "You are cracking me up!  Don't get too cocky or I might spit in your food."  She downed hers in two swift gulps.  About to pour another glass, she was interrupted by chimes that Dorian recognized as the totem she kept in her pocket.  When she retrieved it, she scowled at the surface before holding it to her ear and speaking into it. 

“Major Praxis. Mission Support.”  Her tone changed drastically.  The playfulness was gone, replaced by a curt tone of professional competency.  Hearing only half the conversation, he was enthralled with the concept of instant interaction.  Every aspect of this world revolved around the rapid succession of events.  He glanced back out the window to the darting lights of the city.  Everything happened so quickly, everyone in a rush. 

“No, I am not sending someone out tonight.  You’ll have to wait for the morning…Well, she’s the idiot for trying to use the toilet for two days **after** dropping her phone in it…I don’t care who her father is…then put her in another room, I’m not waking up our standby guy for this…Then you give him my number…That is all, goodnight.”

Placing the totem on the table she talked to it with malice. “Do it, I fucking dare you to tattle to your daddy.  I’ll wake up the whole goddamn base and we’ll all stand around the toilet while you explain how you’re so damn stupid you tried to flush a phone.  C’mon, do it!”  She scoffed in disapproval. 

Dorian couldn’t stop a small laugh from escaping.  It was pleasant to find another similarity between the two worlds – the privileged causing trouble for the working class.  Praxis made herself another drink, muttering about ‘morons’ as she sat in her seat once more.  "So, is it Cullen?"

"Maker, no!  Not that he isn't handsome, he's just..."

"Not the one who’s caught your eye."  With a giggle she leaned over the table.  "The one you like, he doesn't know does he?"

"It's...I don't know.  We're not serious...we just talk, and...Wait.  Why are we talking about my possible romantic intrigues?”  While holding his drink, he peeled a finger away from his glass to point accusingly at Praxis.  “I should be asking why you told that healer Cullen and I are brothers."

Raising her glass, this time she slowed to appreciative sips.  "It's easier to grant you access to the base and hospital if you are a relative.”  She gave him a pointed look, driving home the importance of her statement.  “Don’t forget, there’s no magic here so the truth about who you are and where you come from would most likely land you in the loony bin.” 

“I take it that this loony bin is an undesirable place?”

“That’s an understatement.”  She spoke nonchalantly.  “So long as you avoid any talk of magic or dragons, you should be safe.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair and finished his drink, savoring the burn it left in his throat, the lingering smoky layer that coated his mouth.  When he spoke, he took efforts to watch her reaction to gauge how close he hit the mark.  “I get the impression that you are putting yourself at risk by helping us.”

“A bit, but I have a pocket full of folks who owe me favors.”  She tried to brush off the comment but, there was seriousness behind it.  If any of these ‘folks’ betrayed her, it would not end well.  “It also helps that I know the system well enough that I shouldn’t suffer for it.”  Dorian honed in on her words, _shouldn’t_ isn’t the same as _won’t_. 

Another sip dropped her eyes to her half-full glass.  The level of severity in her tone imparted on Dorian how vastly different their worlds were.  “I saw a dragon, Dorian.  I saw an actual monster.  If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have shipped you off myself.  That shit will likely give me nightmares and yet, you have to live with that.  That, and possibly worse.  You and Cullen were fighting those creatures in nothing but robes with sword and shield to protect you.  I am blown away at the fortitude it takes for you to face them.  Selfless bravery… how could I not help you?”

Humbled, Dorian accepted the rarely heard praise.  He slid his empty glass across the table.  “I won’t endeavor to argue with you there.  Humility is not one of my virtues.”  The refilled glass slid back to him.  He picked it up and saluted his host with it.  “With all sincerity, thank you.  You have no idea how much those few words mean to me.”

***

Voices from outside the bedroom woke Dorian from his sleep.  The lack of a connection to the Fade thrust him upright in panic.  _Maker, I'll never become accustomed to this._

His entrance into the living room was met with a little girl's discerning stare and uninhibited giggle.  "Papa, he's still in his jammies.”

"Sweetie, he's your auntie's guest and he doesn’t have anything else yet."  The man produced a bag that he handed over.  "This should bide you over until your shopping trip tomorrow."

Dorian took it with thanks.  Praxis made him jump out of his skin when she walked up behind him. "Morning!  I see you've met my brother, Hunter."  The bag man reached out to shake Dorian's hand.  Bright red hair confirmed his relation to Praxis.  It was cropped short up the sides then left slightly long on top, oil kept it standing upright, faintly mussed, reminiscent of flames.  The man was fit and the clothes he wore were tailored to highlight the fact.  Dorian would have guessed the man worked in a labor intensive occupation, maybe even a warrior.  However, in this world nothing was as it seemed.  Praxis continued with introductions, pointing to each person in turn.  "That's his husband Chris and their kids, Joshua and Jenna.  Everyone, this is Mr. Dorian."  

A shorter blond man was cooking breakfast in the kitchen area with the ease of someone who was accustomed to using the space.  He was slightly shorter than Hunter and just as healthy with a toned body, although not nearly as muscular as his spouse.  "We stop by now and again to ensure that she's not working herself to death and eating a real meal once in a while."  Chris held out a plate full of freshly cooked food for Praxis laden with twice the amount of anyone else.  His expression warned her against refusing.  

Dorian took a seat with Praxis and the children at the table.  Joshua quit eating to stare at him.    
Over the years, Dorian had become accustomed to falling under the judgmental eye of others. Whether it was for his political views, his preference of bed partners or the stereotype of his being a blood mage from Tevinter, he met with few who regarded him with equanimity.  Joshua knew none of these things and yet he stared and was not shy about it.  Something about Dorian seriously bothered the boy. 

“It’s quicker by far to simply say what is on your mind than waiting until my back is turned."  The jibe flowed from him out of habit, his mind never accounting for the fact he was squaring off with a child.

Joshua squirmed a bit in his chair, then spoke with a frank honesty only found in children.  “Mr. Dorian, why do you curl your mustache like that?  Doesn’t it tickle your nose all day?”

The room filled with stifled giggles at the silliness of the question and perhaps a bit at his mustache.  For the first time since his arrival in the strange world, he broke into a full genuine smile.  “As you may learn later in life my dear Joshua, sometimes one has to make small sacrifices in the name of fashion to be the envy of all others.”

While the room settled back into a morning routine, Dorian took a moment to take in the scene.  A brother caring for a sister.   Children who didn't fear or hate him.   The domestic normalcy of a loving family.

This made Dorian all the more homesick.  He worried about the beloved Herald of Andraste, Mahanon.  A strange emptiness burned in his heart. _I don't belong here, I must find a way back to him._


	2. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update because I'm anxious to get this train moving.

Cullen felt groggy.  He thought there was a pain in his head that caused it, but he soon acknowledged that wasn’t the source.  His whole body felt achy.  His attempts to stretch were met with weak muscles. 

“Commander?”  His memories crashed suddenly at the familiar voice.  Haven, the dragon, Dorian.  A killing blow.

Forcing his eyes open, he took in his surroundings, Cullen was confused.  Every surface was spotless, polished, white.   Strange noises slowly came to him, colliding together and impossible for him to identify what the source could be.  The Tevinter mage, Dorian stood at his bedside, an abandoned book in his hand.  His clothing was well tailored, a black vest over a white shirt with the long sleeves rolled up to this elbows and form fitting black trousers.  He looked more like a man on a holiday rather than the battle mage he fought alongside. 

“Are we dead?”

Dorian chuckled, “No my dear Commander we are not.  Most importantly, you are not.”

“What happened?  How did we get here?”  Cullen’s voice was raspy, he must have been out for a long time.

Dorian sat on the edge of the bed and methodically went through the events of the past week.  The logical progression and well-chosen words indicated he had spent some effort in practicing how he would break the news to Cullen about their displacement, his medical condition and the lack of magic in this world.  Dorian emphasized the importance of fitting in and not revealing to anyone their true origin.

“I’ve been to the site of the rift.  It’s not visible, but I can sense the Fade on the other side.  It’s stable and after a few experiments, I am confident that we can pass through once you are released from the healer’s supervision.”

“You’re…confident…”  Cullen eyed him skeptically.  He had already lost a week, he needed to get back, ensure the Inquisition survived.  His mind flowed into a list of duties needed to regroup, wondering if any survived who knew to carry them out.

Dorian crossed his arms, then stroked at his chin with one hand.  “Well, I haven’t tried pushing people through, but the rabbits we used made it through fine.”  The tone in the mage’s voice was less than convincing, although it didn’t really matter.  Staying in this world was not an option. 

_Great, now I have the disturbing image of Dorian throwing rabbits through a rift stuck in my head._

Moving proved to be a trial with all the tubes and strings that were attached to him, he noticed a white band with script on his wrist.  Dorian watched him twist it with an amused grin, then pointed his finger at the paper braclet.  “There’s a reason for that…”

“Andraste’s flaming ass!  What is this?”  _Cullen Rutherford Pavus_.  Reading it countless times didn’t change the words. 

Dorian answered in mock hurt.  “Really Commander, were I you, I’d count myself fortunate.  You know I would be an excellent husband.”  One of the constant blipping noises began to increase in frequency and it troubled Dorian.  Dorian brought his face close to Cullen’s to hiss a warning in his ear.  “Kaffas!   Calm down, we don’t want to attract the attention of the healers just yet.  It was a necessity, remember we are strangers in this world!”

“Honestly, you Chantry types don’t take well to teasing, assholes puckered up so tight I wonder if you even know how to take a shit.”  He waved his hand flippantly at Cullen as he rose off the bed.  “I have assumed the role of your _brother_ since it is easier for family to gain access to the healer’s lodgings.  Praxis says you will need to stay here another six days.  The healers have a list of required tasks you have to perform before they will release you.”

Cullen traced one of the transparent vines to a bag with a clear liquid within that dripped slowly into his arm.  He wondered at its purpose while he questioned Dorian.  “Who is Praxis?”

“The lovely Major Praxis is our benevolent benefactor.  Without her, you would be nothing but a fleshy ragdoll in armor.  Which I’m sad to say, did not survive the encounter with the dragon.”  Dorian clapped his hands together in a manner that meant he would be taking his leave soon.  “I will visit daily to provide you with company.”

Cullen smirked and took a guess at his motive. “Is Major Praxis making you?”

“Yes, the vexing woman is!  There are plenty of diversions far more interesting than your bland room.”  Dorian stoked his mustache in thought.  “What if I brought you some books?  You would be entertained and I can go about my merry business!  Praxis has a wonderfully gory, battle heavy selection in her apartment, I’m sure to find a few that would interest you.”

***

After five days of being cared for incessantly by healers, Cullen was finally released.  He’d spent most of his days reading.  Many of the books Dorian brought were interesting, however the more modern ones were only good for learning ranks since the mechanisms used changed the tactics too drastically to relate them those used in Thedas.  Major Praxis had not been by to see him as of yet.  She was wrapped up in the base’s inspection and then the quick turnover into a training exercise to spare the time.

In the bathroom, he changed into the clothes that Dorian brought him.  Before buttoning up his shirt, he stared in the mirror at the massive scar that ran up the center of his chest, a ridge forming where his sternum was trying to knit itself back together, thin metal clips cinching his skin together.  Cullen had never been so keenly aware of how close he had come to joining the Maker’s side.  It was strange to know that another man’s heart beat in his chest.  He felt no different, and yet, he thought that he should.  He wondered if he would ever shake the fear of it suddenly stopping once it realized it was in the wrong body.

He walked out of the bathroom to find Dorian holding onto his ‘walking stick’ while speaking with a young woman in uniform, similar to those of the staff but she was clearly not a healer.  She was standing with her hands clasped behind her back in a stiff posture.  Cullen had trained far too many recruits to miss her tells, she was anxious.  One game that Cullen played during his countless hours alone in his room was learning the ranks of this world’s military.  “Lieutenant, something the matter?”

“The field exercise begins in a half hour, Sir.”

Cullen looked to Dorian who replied with an exasperated sigh.  “I may have promised earlier that if you were released in time we could go and watch the final field exercise.”

“Why would you wait on me?”

“Because she’s been assigned as my - _our_ driver.  The lovely lieutenant here is on casual status.  She has no other duties except to wait for a school slot to open, so Praxis assigned her to be our driver.”  Dorian’s pleased demeanor gave the vague impression that the spoiled Tevinter enjoyed having someone catering to his needs.

Cullen had to admit that he was intrigued, reading was one thing, but this would be interesting to see how their ranks operated.  “Lead on then.”

***

Despite Dorian’s assurances, Cullen doubted he would ever become accustomed to the mechanized carriages.  _Blessed Maker.  The sooner we are back in Thedas the better._

The lieutenant guided them to a medical tent that was set up for emergencies.  The large tented area was up on a small hill that overlooked an open field surrounded by a sparsely wooded wilderness.  The scorched ground designated the entire valley as an often-used training area for explosives.  There were no soldiers other than the healers. 

The lieutenant offered the two men a pair of chairs that she set up.  “This should be a good spot.”  She checked a map within a folder she was holding.  “Yes, this will be perfect.”  She twisted her wrist to check her time piece then sat next to them.  Cullen missed the opportunity to ask any questions about the exercise when Dorian leapt up from his seat screaming at the ground.

“Kaffas!  The little demons bit me!”  He stomped at the ground, attempting to kill every last ant that scurried for safety.

The lieutenant rushed to push Dorian away from the target of his anger.  “No!  Mr. Pavus you can’t kill them!”

“You must be joking.”

“They’re harvester ants and the primary food for horned lizards.  The lizard is a protected species, so you’re not allowed to kill its food source.”

Dorian’s incredulous gaze darted from the lieutenant and back to Cullen.  Cullen attempted to suppress a mocking laugh.  “A lizard?  A lizard is protected?  What is so special about this lizard?”

“Well, the species is categorized by the state as ‘threatened’ so measures are put in place that prevent any further harm to the population.”  She spoke matter-of-factly, as though mentioning that this horned creature was ‘threatened’ justified everything. 

“So, the lizard is useless?”

“Well, yes, but who wants to see a species wiped out?”  Disconcerted at Dorian’s lack of interest in the lizard’s survival, she moved the seats away from the ant colony.  “Sit here Mr. Pavus and I’ll get you some ointment.” 

Dorian waited for her to be out of earshot.  “Do you see now, _hmm_?!  The lunacy I’ve had to deal with?  This society is the pinnacle of insanity!” 

The lieutenant returned with a small vile that contained a liquid for Dorian’s injury.  A faint hum echoed throughout the valley.  The lieutenant turned to the sky in anticipation.  “And here they come.”  A black dot slowly flew across the sky in the distance, becoming larger as it came closer. 

“The unit has to establish an expeditionary base and then defend the base while they build it up.”  That was all she would offer as her full attention was fixed on the flying object.  Her excitement was infectious.  Cullen found that he was apprehensive.  Checking on Dorian, he saw that the normally aloof mage was beginning to show some interest.  The hum grew louder to the point he could feel the vibrations inside his ears.  Cullen made an effort to appear calm as no one else seemed concerned by the noise.  Only Dorian was covering his ears and grimacing at the discomfort.  The flying… _thing_ was almost overhead when it let loose several large objects that came hurtling to the ground, slowed by tents of fabric. 

Stunned, Cullen turned to the lieutenant.  “What are those?”

“This is the first part.  The equipment is airdropped in, then the soldiers are next.  The soldiers come second to reduce the possibility that they are injured by falling crates.  The parachutes slow the crates down, but not enough to keep them from crushing someone.”  She held the folder open in her lap, her fingers marking a spot on the papers.  Glancing at it, Cullen deduced it was a script for the exercise.  The lieutenant elbowed him, then pointed to the valley. “This is the cool part.” 

A second flying object slowly made its way across the sky.  The objects dropped this time were greater in number but smaller than the crated supplies now resting on the ground.  Shortly after beginning their descent, a massive swath of fabric popped open to slow their acceleration to the ground.

“Fasta Vass, those are people!”  Both Cullen and Dorian stood enraptured with the scene as it unfolded.  The implications of what they were witnessing hit Cullen hard.  Scouting rogues were always of high value to infiltrate through enemy lines for reconnaissance, but to have the ability to place an entire force _anywhere_ on a battlefield or beyond barricades was mind-boggling. 

The soldiers landed, methodically, collected their fabric, and then charged toward the bulky crates.  While the first squadron worked on collecting the gear from the supply drop, a second squadron landed.  The lieutenant leaned next to Cullen once he sat down and she explained the script.  In the folder was the gantt chart that laid out how events would unfold depending on the choices the acting Commander made.  There were specific windows of time that they were allowed to call for more supplies, when they could ask for reinforcements, when it would be safe to ask for a medical evacuation, among many others.  Specific crisis points were also part of the mix that were intended to create problems along the way.  Some happened depending on the choices of the Commander, others happened regardless of any preventative measures.  As the squads marched closer, Major Praxis was pointed out to Cullen.  She blended in with the other soldiers easily but it was soon clear that she was in the role of instructor as she shadowed the acting Commander. 

True to the script, the unit was taking too long to reach their defensive position at the top of the hill and came under attack.  Explosions and smoke hindered the rest of their assent.  Some of them had to abandon gear that was ‘damaged’ from the attack.  The bombardment didn’t slow until they organized and set up a perimeter defense.  As soon as the acting Commander had everything well in hand, Cullen watched Major Praxis grab the man by the shoulder and pull him down to the ground.

“Sniper!  Dubois, you have command!”

The young captain rose to his feet and with a bitter look over his shoulder as he made his way to the medical tent.  He fell to the ground next to Dorian to continue watching the exercise unfold without him.  The lieutenant closed her folder and stopped explaining the details of the training.  Within minutes, the captain was back on his feet, pacing and talking to himself.  According to him, Dubois was muddling up everything.

“I can’t believe she did this!  I had it, I fucking had it!”  The captain pulled off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Cullen chuckled at his youthful impatience. 

“Something funny?!”  The captain snapped in rage at Cullen.

“Look at what’s happening.”  Cullen pointed to the unit fumbling to accomplish tasks while also defending their position.

“Everything is falling to shit, everyone is getting pissed and fucking up!  Goddammit Dubois!” 

Cullen rose to stand beside the soldier.  “Exactly.  She’s looking for incompetence.”  Cullen pointed to the new Commander.  “He’s trying but he needs work, needs confidence.  He’ll either find it in this moment or not.  She’ll call you back in if he doesn’t.  Then what will you do?” 

Listening and actually absorbing what Cullen was saying.  To his  credit, the captain took a moment to think about his answer.  “I want to go in and yell at Dubois, but I shouldn’t.”  The captain looked up to Cullen who easily stood a few inches taller.  Cullen nodded to let him know he was right.

“Your people already know their jobs, you shouldn’t have to tell them how to do it.  You need to fix the morale problem that is being created.  You don’t have the luxury of time.  Make every moment count, knowing that you may have to sacrifice some niceties in order to make the mission happen.  Your people will take care of the little things, focus on keeping them as a whole focused on your mission.”

“Yes, sir.”   Instantly the captain was calm.  Cullen watched as the man looked at the scene with fresh eyes, calculating what needed to be done.  As expected, Dubois failed and the captain was sent back in.  After thirty minutes, the chaos subsided.  Unexpected events and equipment malfunctions still occurred, but the unit handled it well under the guidance of the relaxed, encouraging captain.

“Hey Rosie.  They got you doing a temp job too?”  Another lieutenant approached their driver.  “I’ve been counting medical supplies for the past three weeks.  What about you?”

She flashed him an arrogant grin.  “Aide to Major Praxis.”

“Wow.  Whose dick did you have to suck to get that sweet gig?”  Cullen immediately turned on the new arrival who cringed under his glare.  “Apologies sir.  M-my comment was inappropriate and inconsiderate of the company present.”

Lieutenant Rosie tried to contain her laugh but Dorian didn’t bother, “Outstanding Commander.  Even when you are not on duty you manage to frighten the shit out of the ranks!”

Although Dorian’s comment was in jest, it did remind Cullen that he technically had no authority here.  He needed to get rid of this idiot before anything worse happens.  “Why don’t you go back to counting supplies?” 

“Dorian!”  Cullen turned to see Major Praxis walking up.  She was with another man who had the grizzled expression of someone who spent the better part of his life in the military.  The major turned to the medical lieutenant, “What are you doing here?  Get back to your station.”

“Yes, sir.  Uh, I mean ma’am!  Yes ma’am.”

The man who was with Praxis exploded on the bumbling fool. “Too late!  Are you kidding me?  Does she look like a man to you?!  Get down!” 

The wayward lieutenant moved as a man who was often punished for his idiocy as he immediately assumed the position to execute press-ups.  “Ma’am!  You are a ma’am, not a sir, ma’am.  One.  Ma’am.  You are a ma’am, not a sir, ma’am.  Two.”

After fifteen, Praxis was running out of patience.  “C’mon.  Let’s finish this.”  She dropped to the ground with the male major following suit.  The group then knocked out another forty rapid fire. 

“Johnson, can you see that he makes it back to where he belongs?”  The other major grabbed the slouching lieutenant by the collar to usher him back to the medical area.

“As for you.”  Praxis turned on Rosie.  “What did you tell Rothstien?  I told you not to let anyone see that folder.” 

“I believe that is my fault.”  Cullen interjected.  “I hope that it did not cause too much trouble.  I didn’t tell him what was going to happen, simply pointed out good practices.”

Dorian actually came to his defense, in his own way.  “I’m dreadfully sorry Praxis but my dear Commander is ever the mother-hen when it comes to caring for the lost puppies that wonder about in uniform.”

“At least I got a moment to breathe out of it.”  She shifted restlessly in her armor, wiping sweat from her dirt speckled face.  It seemed that no matter the origin, no culture could avoid uncomfortable armor.  “Dubois is worse than I thought.  Rosie, make a note that he needs to go see the colonel for career planning.” 

Praxis let out as sigh so heavy, Cullen could practically feel the weight of her duties bearing down on her.  “Excuse me, I jumped the gun.  Major Praxis.”  She shook Cullen’s hand in the custom that Dorian had explained a few days ago.  This was the moment that Cullen noticed her eyes were different colors, one blue, the other brown.  He had to put forth an effort to push the observation aside and stay focused on what she was saying. 

“I’m glad to see that you are up and about.  I don’t have much time right now, but I’ll see you back at the apartment tonight.  Rosie, go ahead and take them home.  Things are going to get really dicey in a few minutes and there’s no good spot for spectators.”

Rosie spoke with a few other soldiers before escorting Cullen and Dorian back to their carriage.  It was just enough time for the men from Thedas to see the base begin to defend itself in earnest.  Concussive explosions erupted along the perimeter as the onslaught increased.  Cullen was able to name most of the larger weaponry positioned for defense from his reading; squad automatic weapon, 240 Bravo, MK 19 with grenade launchers, and then there was the ear-shattering prattle that came from the GAU-19 Gatling gun.  Four of these massive guns were mounted on stands and firing downrange, shredding all targets and splintering some of the few remaining trees to dust. 

“Vehendis.”  Dorian whispered in awe, leaning close to Cullen to keep his remarks from traveling.  There wasn’t much worry over that since the constant gun fire was still deafening even as they were walking away.  “One man can do the same damage as a circle of mages!”

Cullen kept his eyes away from the field, he’d seen enough of the destruction that weapons wrought in his lifetime than to add new ones to his nightmares.  They both sat in the back seat of the vehicle for ease of conversation.  “You should have read some of those books you brought me.  Everything that they are using out there is considered to be on the small side.”

Dorian looked worriedly out the window, shook his head, then spoke to Rosie up front.  “Darling if you would please, I think it is time we best be off.”

***

The ride into town had Cullen’s eyes glued to the window.  The structures on base were interesting but not too abnormally odd.  The ones off base were absolutely astonishing.  Although he knew it would be impossible, Cullen wanted to walk every street to see everything.  His sightseeing was interrupted by a chime that came from Dorian’s pocket.  Cullen watched as Dorian produced the phone that he showed Cullen once before in the hospital. 

“Actually Rosie dear, could you drop us off at the corner here?”

As soon as Rosie drove off, leaving the pair on the sidewalk, Cullen admonished Dorian.  “You're enjoying this far too much.”

Playing the innocent, Dorian didn’t bother to look at Cullen as he donned a pair of black tinted glasses and walked around the corner, staff in hand.  “To what could you possibly be referring?”

”Your ease with the magic of this world.  You enjoy watching my discomfort.”  He followed the mage into a merchant’s building.  The cool air inside made Cullen take a sharp breath, which he held when he stared at the merchandise.  Endless shelves of every variety of food he could image and many more he could never name.

Dorian rolled his eyes with an annoyed sigh.  The phone must have given specific instructions since Dorian walked with purpose through the store.  “I've told you before, there is no magic here.  Surely you've noticed the absence of vivid dreams.”

“Yes."  It was the only thing that he will regret leaving behind.  No nightmares, no sleepless nights.  It had been a wonderful change. 

Dorian grabbed an armful of bottles, which he made Cullen carry.  “Praxis said she would be late.  Again.  So, dinner will be just the two of us.”

 “Dorian.” Cullen stared with narrowed eyes.  “This is nothing but wine.”

“Oh, my dear Commander, you are quite endearing!  I am pleased that you have such high esteem of my greatness in all endeavors.  Alas, the preparation of meals is not one of them.  I will have dinner delivered, much easier, wouldn’t you agree?”

One of the dozen merchants calculated the cost of the liquid dinner, placing all of the bottles in easy to carry bags.  Dorian produced a thin, colorful playing card, which he tapped on the counter.  It must work similar to a birthright amulet since the merchant thanked him for his purchase and wished them both a pleasant day.  Cullen thought of the thousands of people who lived in the city and wondered how the merchant kept track of each family’s insignia.     

It was a short walk to Praxis’ apartment building.  Cullen’s eyes continued to wander about his surroundings.  A small dog was pushed in a fancy pram.  A man and a woman jogged by in nothing but their smalls.  Almost every person wore the bright colored dyes that were too expensive for anyone outside the nobility in Thedas.  Hairstyles and color had no limits.  No one was idle, either talking or playing with a phone as they hurried to their destinations. 

“I thought we were supposed to be careful about any implications as to where we’re from.  How is it not an issue that you carry your staff everywhere?”

Dorian waited for the bustle of the crowd around them to thin before answering.  “No one questions a walking stick, besides, Praxis says it makes me look eccentric which helps to blend into the urban setting.  Besides, I need to feel the Fade, however small, or I will most assuredly take leave of my senses.”

The two men walked through the double glass doors of a towering building.  Dorian waved a polite ‘hello’ to the guardsman inside the entrance who greeted Dorian by name.  A different playing card granted them access to a restrictive box that ascended nauseously to the twenty-sixth floor.  Every element of daily life here was confusing to Cullen.  “Nothing in this world makes sense.”

Dorian had similar sentiments as he mused aloud with a developed thought.  “You know, I had the exact same thought and it occurred to me that _this_ must be what it feels like to be Sera.  Think on it.  Nothing is as it should, dangers are unknown, and there is no telling what new incident will further warp our perception of reality.”

Cullen stepped back from Dorian as if his odd thoughts were contagious.  “You’re right.  We need to get back.  And soon.”

***

At eleven o’clock, Cullen was still awake, staring out over the bright lights of the city while Dorian slept in the guest room, his mind under the hazy blanket of three bottles of wine.  The main entrance opening and closing interrupted Cullen’s sightseeing. 

“Sonny.  Play ‘Under the Bridge’.”  That was another idiosyncrasy of this world.  No one was satisfied with quiet, even the elevator with its short journey, constantly played music.  It was impossible to escape.  Then there was Sonny.  Dorian tried to teach Cullen how to speak to it, but never understand Cullen’s commands, much to Dorian’s delighted amusement.  Cullen hated Sonny. 

While the song filled the dark apartment with a gentle melody, Praxis threw down a bulky dirt coated bag that was two-thirds her size.  She sang along to the easy lyrics as she left the bag on the tile near the kitchen then walked into the living room while ripping her armor off.  With the final catch undone, she let it fall to the floor.  The heavy thud was followed by a relieved sigh, she stretched her arms up over her head, pausing her singing when she noticed Cullen.  Her carefree smile was the most welcome thing he had seen since he had awoken. 

“Cullen, I would have thought you’d be in bed.”  She spoke easily over the music, accustomed to doing so. 

Cullen, on the other hand, had to approach her and school his volume.  “May we stop that?  I’m sorry, I’m not used to such things.”

“Sonny.  Music off.”  A pause and then the room was silent once more.  “There.  How are you feeling?  Are you certain you are up for your trip back home?”

Cullen already had this conversation with Dorian.  The healers wanted to check on the progress of his recovery every week for two months.  He refused.  They must get back to the Herald, to the Inquisition. 

“I am.  I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but we have obligations that cannot wait.” 

“I understand.”  She walked back to the discarded bag and after fighting the compressive straps a bit, she was able to pull a small bag out of one of the numerous pouches.  “I was able to make a drug deal – haha, drug deal – with a friend at the hospital.  This is six months’ worth of yout medication.  Dorian mentioned you have your own magic doctors, but this couldn’t hurt just in case.  The next opportunity to go back to the range is in two days.  I took leave from work so you guys aren’t alone in the meantime.”

“Speaking of deals, Dorian mentioned that you were taking risks…”

“Bah!  Don’t mention it.  You can see that I have nothing at home demanding my attention.  It was nice to have a guest for a while.”  Cullen chuckled at the thought of living with Dorian for nearly two weeks.  She lightly punched his shoulder.  “He’s not that bad!  He is needy, but fun nonetheless.”  Scrunching her eyebrows she admonished her temporary roommate.  “Although he does drink like a fish.”

A song began to play from her trouser pocket.  With an irritated grunt she spoke into the phone.  “Major Praxis, Mission Support.”  Cullen couldn’t hear the other person but could tell that the news was unwelcome.  Exhaustion stole away the happy woman who came home looking for a moments’ rest.  “Alright, I’ll be there in a half hour, meet me in the parking lot.  Please bring a set of clothes.”

She threw the phone down on the soft couch and grunted at it.  “Well, it seems that I can’t get a break even when I file for one.”  She motioned for Cullen to follow into her bedroom where she pulled a crisp, formal looking uniform out of the closet and laid it on the bed.  She spoke in-between removing layers of clothing.  “My unit received the highest scores during the exercise today.”

Down to her smalls, the way she moved around the room suggested she was fully comfortable in that stage of undress in front of the opposite sex.  He tried to keep his eyes level, but they were drawn downward to the four jeweled metal studs that dotted across her collarbone, threatening to draw his eyes even lower.  Swiftly, he turned his head to the side out of respect, while still keening an ear to hear her story.  She left the door open to the bathroom while she rinsed the dirt from her face.  “A few of our boys got a little too proud and celebrated a little too hard at one of the bars.”

The mirror swung from the wall like a door and she retrieved a bright orange canister that deposited two round pills in her hand.  After she downed the pills, she briefly gave Cullen a guilty look before rushing back into the bedroom.

Next to the bed, she started to carefully don the clean uniform.  “A fight erupted with a group of Marines, so of course my guys are the ones in jail.”  She went into the explanation when the word ‘marine’ turned his head.  “The number one rule when fighting a Marine is that they are never alone.  Rule number two is ‘never get in a fight with one’.  It doesn’t matter who starts it, they’re born fighters and they will always win.  Now, it’s nearly midnight and I have to retrieve and discipline a _naked_ officer from prison.  The Shirt has four guys to collect as well so at least I won’t be alone.”

“Your officer is in prison, naked?  How did that happen?”

Fully dressed, her fingers deftly worked her hair in a braid that created a tight seem down the back of her head.  She tucked the loose end under at the nape of her neck with pins, preventing any hair from reaching the collar.  “Like I said, don’t get in a fight with a Marine.  It never ends well.”

Speaking with Praxis for this short time illustrated what Dorian had mentioned when he said that everyone was in a hurry.  Cullen couldn’t recall a time when he had to follow someone room to room during a conversation.  In the kitchen, she spoke to him with her head in the large cold storage container.  “Mind if I finish your left overs?”

“No, please do.”

A few quick bites and she placed the food container back in the storage box.  “I’d love to take you with me if you’re having trouble sleeping, but I’m going to have to be mean and I don’t want you to leave with a bad impression of me.  Take my bed if you like, I probably won’t use it.”

She offered her bed so casually that Cullen imagined that sleepless nights must be a common occurrence for her.  With a handful of keys, she was walking out of the apartment.  “Good night Cullen, sleep well!”

***

Cullen harbored some guilt that Praxis was accommodating them out to the rift during one of her days off from work.  Even though she didn’t travel to the base, work managed to follow her home and each night she stayed awake to handle ‘emergencies’.  However, she still had a pleasant attitude despite being tired.  He regretted that he didn’t get to know her the way Dorian had.  It was obvious that they were fast friends and got along easily. 

At the guarded vehicle entrance, Praxis handed over a case of beer for the guard, another one of her ‘drug deals’ as she referred to them.  In the field, they walked a determined distance before Dorian struck his staff in the ground in his typical flashy manner of reaching out for the Fade.  He gave Cullen a devilish half smile.  “Feel it don’t you?  Surely you’ve missed the feel of magic as I have.”

“I never thought I would ever refer to the sensation of magic as ‘comforting’ but, Maker, it does feel good.”  The waves of magic enveloped him and instantly comforted nerves that he was unaware had frayed.  His body reacted instantly, desiring to control Dorian’s connection to the Fade.  If he felt this strongly, he couldn’t begin to imagine how Dorian had coped for two weeks. 

“Well, before you finish what you need to do, I will say my ‘goodbyes’ and take my leave.”  She gave Dorian a full hug and a peck on the cheek.  “Try to stay out of trouble.”

“My gracious lady, trouble _always_ finds me.  A rather nasty consequence of being irrepressibly dashing if you must know.  Far too many people find themselves overcome with jealousy.”  She slapped him on the shoulder as she walked past to offer her hand to Cullen. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to know one another better, but I am glad that you have the chance to go home.”

“I wish there were some way we could repay you.  I will never forget this kindness.”  He shook her hand, but she pulled at his grip to wrap her left arm over his shoulder, patting his back in a friendly embrace with her face in his shoulder.  “Good luck.  Stay safe.”

“I will endeavor to make it so.”  He barely knew this stranger and yet her generosity was a kin to what one would expect from family.  Of all the odd qualities of this world, he did admire this one. 

Praxis walked some distance away and waited.  Dorian began to weave his spell, focusing it through an amulet.  A swirling glow began to form, Cullen stole a glance back at Praxis, she was moving even further away.  The light grew and began to resemble a rift that the Herald frequently closed.  Cullen squeezed his eyes shut, _Maker hear my prayer.  Maker see that the Herald is alright.  Please let them all be safe._   A crushing pain slammed into his chest, forcing his eyes open but all he saw was green light.  The sensation spread from his chest throughout his body then pulled at his skin.  Fear conjured the image of his skin ripping from his bones.  He  saw that it wasn’t true, but that did not wash away the feeling.

Cullen tried to push himself up out of the snow, but was knocked back down by a blast wave of heat.  “Dorian!?  Was that you?”

“Oh, Commander!  You have no idea how thoroughly deep in ecstasy I am right now.”  More magic poured freely from the mage.  Fireballs lit up the sky.  His time as a partial Tranquil must have taken its toll.  The free use of his magic didn’t bother Cullen, he actually sat and enjoyed feeling the magic prickle at his skin to remind him that he was where he belonged.

“Oh my God, Dorian, what did you do?!”

“Praxis!?”  Cullen jerked his head behind him and saw Praxis pulling herself up out of a snow bank.  She was easily fifteen fathoms away, how could Dorian’s magic have reached that far?  He had struggled to pull enough through the rift to make the spell work much less have a large area of effect.

“I told you to stay back!”  Dorian snapped at her as if she were the one who messed up the spell. 

“Look at me!  Does this look close to you?!”  The snow was over her ankles and she had to make high jumping steps to reach them.  “Well, what now?”

“Considering how the precautions I took the first time did not work, I am hesitant to try again.  Assuming we can find the Inquisition _and_ that Solas is alive, he would be the perfect person with whom to speak concerning the use of the amulet.  Its magic is similar to the mark on the Herald, surely he can provide some useful tidbit that will see you home.”

Cullen scanned the area in the hopes of seeing another person but was not surprised to find that they were the only ones there.  “Any ideas where to start looking?  I’m unfamiliar with the mountain pass that Roderick mentioned, and with the second avalanche, I don’t think we’ll be able to find it.”

Praxis piped in.  “Easy, suppliers.  If your people are still operating, then all we have to do is follow the trail of goods.”

“There’s a merchant in the next town over that deals in leathers, let’s start there.”  Cullen began trudging towards the east, hoping that once they got out of Haven, the snow wouldn’t be as thick.  “We’ll also need to find you a traveling cloak to hide your clothes.”

She rubbed at her bare arms, “Warmer would be nice too.”

***

The trio made better time once they were on the well-traveled roads.  The merchant was helpful and apparently they weren’t the first group to ask after the Inquisition.  His directions flowed from him quickly in a tired monotone.  It took three days travel to reach the fortress the Inquisition now called home, the packs that Praxis had prepared for them took care of shelter and food.  Cullen found himself impressed with Praxis considering the level of luxury she lived in.  She never once complained about anything, the weather, her situation, or sleeping on the ground, she was pleasant company for the entire journey and managed to playfully match some of Dorian’s flirtatious comments. 

The fortress had been in view for some time in the distance, but when they were closer, a sinking dread stopped Cullen in his tracks. 

“Commander?  Something amiss?” Dorian didn’t know or didn’t see.

“The black flags.  The smoke.”  Cullen was still in shock.  _This can’t be happening._   “A funeral.” 

The lack of scouts along the road finally made sense.  An Inquisition wide funeral meant that the deceased was someone of importance. 

“No.  You careless bastard, not like this!  Mahanon, please no!”  The choked sob and the way Dorian sprinted to the portcullis confirmed the rumors Cullen had heard that Dorian and the Herald had become close. 

He started to follow suit, but Praxis tugged hard at his sleeve.  “No, you’re still healing and there is nothing you can do now that will change anything.”

Agreeing with her, he fell into step beside her.  Cullen’s thoughts drifted to dark, terrible places as he began to hope that the funeral was for Cassandra or Leliana.  _Please, Maker forgive me but we can’t loose him._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Under The Bridge - Red Hot Chili Peppers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwlogyj7nFE)   
> 


	3. A New Acquisition for the Inquisition

Funerals weren’t something The Iron Bull eagerly attended.  His preference was to mourn the passing of good people with drinks and the recounting of happy memories.  However, in these parts, funerals were gloomy processionals that ended with everyone staring at a pyre.  He wanted to dismiss this ritual as overly wasteful since they didn’t have any bodies to burn, yet the Inquisitor insisted. 

Cullen and Dorian gave their lives to protect Mahanon when he created the second avalanche in Haven, giving the surviving Inquisition forces a chance to escape.  Paying the ultimate sacrifice was a concept that rang respectfully within Bull.  They were good men who deserved to be honored, even if the ceremony was a little dumb.

A commotion broke out at the main gates.  Bull was always armed and this time was no exception.  He stepped in front of the Inquisitor and his advisors, ready to fuck up whatever was disrespectful and stupid enough to interrupt a funeral.  His eye locked on a man who was shoving his way through the mourners, knocking some in the head with his staff.  The Inquisitor’s keen elven eyes recognized the intruder before Bull.

“Dorian?”  Mahanon broke from the group, “Dorian!”  Leliana vainly reached out to stop him but the rogue was too fast. 

“Mahanon!”  It could have been a cheesy scene from one of Varric’s trashy novels.  The two men crashed together in a welcoming embrace, their heads resting on the other man’s shoulder.  Their arms used every ounce of muscle to keep them together, unbelieving at seeing the other alive.

It was the Inquisitor who broke them apart, clutching the mage’s face, still incredulous to see Dorian alive and unharmed.  “Ma falon enansal!  Ar eth.  Creators Dorian, I thought I lost you!”

Bull had to admit he was impressed as well.  The damn mage’s robes were fairly clean considering they were the same ones he wore in the battle.  It was tough for Bull to believe that the spoiled Vint could have made it out of Haven alone.  Which means he didn’t.  A pleased grin covered his mouth as he hefted his maul over his shoulder.  “So, what did you do with Cullen?”

“Cullen is alive as well?”  Mahanon finally let go of Dorian to look beyond him, searching for the Inquisition’s Commander. 

Dorian didn’t follow his gaze, instead remaining focused on the Inquisitor, his eyes longing for something more.  The Vint had it bad.  “He’s injured and can’t run, but he is fine.  Vehendis, I was worried that the funeral was for you.  Who else would warrant such attention?”

Mahanon’s smile was genuine and had endeared many of their allies to the Inquisition, but this one, this one reached to his eyes and sparked bright only for Dorian.  It was no wonder that the mage had fallen for the elf.  “It’s in honor of the Commander and yourself you great ass.  I saw the dragon kill both of you.”

“In honor of…yes, well about that…”  Dorian instantly flushed, apparently surprised that anyone would give the dreaded blood mage any consideration after his death. 

Soldiers were shouting congratulations, flooding toward the gates, all of them eager to see the Commander alive.  Mahanon started in the Commander’s direction but was swiftly met with a wall of people.  He cocked his head upward to Bull with a pleasing grin as he gestured to the crowd.  “Bull, if you don’t mind, I would like welcome our Commander home.”

“No problem Boss.”  Dealing with crowds was one of his favorite tasks.  Bull flexed his muscles as he strode up to the mass of soldiers, many instantly backing away.  Although he had been with the Inquisition a few months, there were many who were still intimidated by his height, size, and of course, his badass horns.  Easily making a path through the crowd, the Inquisitor and his advisors followed in his wake. 

Bull was aware of the fact he was a tits man.  From the pillowy orbs that spilled out of a woman's dress to the muscle toned pecs of a shirtless man, he admired them all.  This woman standing next to Cullen had a nice rack and the clothes she wore cupped them beautifully.  They were even framed by her traveling cloak that she left open.  The black shirt looked custom made to hug every curve, sink into every dip of her body.  She didn’t wear a corset or breast band, leaving his mind racing to figure out how her breasts hung so perfectly, as if a man stood behind her, cupping them just right.  The idea made him lick his lips and twitch his fingers at the want to touch them.  It was also no surprise that his distraction at a lovely new set of breasts almost got him killed.  

The woman with hair as bright as fire, stepped in front of Cullen.  The skin on the left side of her face was scarred and added to the severity of her posture.  A deadly glare in her eyes, she withdrew a metal weapon and pointed it soundly at Bull.  Those eyes, one was a crystalline blue, the other hazel.  She thought him a threat and readied to defend the Commander.  Halting his advance, Bull called out to the others to stay back. 

“No, don’t!  He’s one of us.”  Cullen stood at her side, his arms flexed with uncertainty, ready to tackle, but cautious that he might make things worse.  From the corner of his eye, Bull noticed that the quick movement on the battlements were archers taking up positions, waiting. 

“Praxis, wait!  I know he seems a bit thuggish, but he does tend to grow on you.”  Dorian was still insufferably conceited, but Bull could hear the tension that wavered his voice.  Protectively, Dorian held the Inquisitor back.  Whatever she held in her hand was lethal enough that a Templar and a mage feared it. 

Bull watched her eyes hop from Dorian back to Cullen before deciding to lower her weapon.  A metallic clink sounded before she placed it behind her back under the cloak.  Once it was put away, Dorian released Mahanon who approached Cullen with an openhearted handshake.  “I believe I speak for all of us when I say that it is good to have the Lion back within our ranks!”

While everyone clamored to greet Cullen and speak to both he and Dorian about their miraculous survival, Bull kept his eye on the woman and began to categorize what he could.

Noble, pampered.  Quick to judge. Accustomed to giving orders and following orders.  A middleman.  At least the second child. 

A foreigner.  The way she looked at Bull was no surprise, few have seen Qunari such as he but she gave the same look to Mahanon.  There was nowhere in Thedas that she wouldn’t have been exposed to some elves.  That makes things interesting. 

“Ugh!  If we could go to the War Room, we might be able to hear one another.”  The noise of the crowd was growing rapidly and drowning out any explanation that Cullen tried to provide. 

Leliana, the Inquisition’s spymaster gave Bull a look that bid him to join them.  She was wary of the woman as well.  It’s too convenient that a stranger simply walks up to Skyhold with two dead men.  Bull motioned for Krem to follow as well.  Can’t be too careful. 

***

“That is difficult to believe.”  Cassandra was ever the pragmatist.  Cullen and Dorian finished telling their story, the woman, Praxis, stayed silent as she watched the Inquisitor’s inner circle’s reactions, twisting a large signet ring on her finger, impatient, but trying to hide it.  Bull watched her.  Her stature and complexion marked her as noble but unlike the other humans he’d ever been around, she smelled different, like butter.  His mind wondered briefly if the smell changed when she sweat, his eye drifted to her breasts again. 

“If I may see the amulet please.”  Solas held his hand out to Dorian.  A quick examination and a small spell, placed a scowl on his face.  “Dorian, this is damaged.  It can’t hold Fade energy any longer.”

For the first time, Praxis spoke.  “What do you mean?  Can’t another one be found, or made?

She walked boldly into a stronghold filled with unknown forces completely composed, but the prospect of not returning frightened her.  Well, that eliminates her as a possible infiltrator. 

“My sincerest apologies, but it is out of the question.  Coryphaeus’s magic is what made this amulet work in the beginning before it came into Alexius’ possession.  It is unlikely that he has another one, disregarding the impossibility of us obtaining such a thing.”

Paling skin. Rapid breathing.  She was going into shock, but managed to catch herself.  Closing her eyes, she focused her breathing to bring her heart rate down, color slowly returned to her complexion.  She’s dealt with stress before.  Perhaps not a completely useless soldier after all.

“I need to go for a walk.”

“I’ll come with you.”  Dorian offered but Bull cut him off.

“No, you don’t know your way around.  Let Krem go.”  Bull’s lieutenant peeled away from the wall that supported his relaxed posture to fall in step beside Praxis.  A few quick hand movements from Bull and Krem understood with a curt nod, then he and Praxis were out of the War Room. 

“Well, shit.  I’ve seen convicts walk to the gallows with a happier outlook.”  Varric made the astute observation once the heavy door shut.  “Surely we’re not _that_ bad an alternative.” 

“Compared to her society, we are hardly more than barbarians playing in the mud.”  Not many things surprised Bull, but to hear this coming from Cullen was peculiar. 

“Our dear Commander’s assessment is quite accurate.  Even if you were to compare the high society of Tevinter, the world she comes from is…nearly indescribable.  Every luxury is at her fingertips, the poor suffer from the ill effects of obesity, every child receives an education making it is impossible to find someone who is illiterate, dogs are considered the equivalents of family members and wastefulness is so abhorred that they wash their trash and sort it for reuse.  I actually saw a man lay his hands on a dog’s defecation to deposit in the refuse bin all in the name of preserving the beauty of a park.”

Cullen’s laugh interrupted Dorian’s litany of otherworldly observations.  “Don’t forget about the ants.”

“Yes!  Those damn ants attacked me and I was prohibited from exacting my revenge because some horny lizard, which by the way, is so inept at survival that it can’t properly procreate, _prefers_ this particular species of ant for its meals.”  At the lack of a expected response, Dorian became indignant.  “Did any of you rightly understand me?  There are rules that protect ants!”

Mahanon gave Dorian a vexing half smile with a bit of a laugh.  “I hope the injury wasn’t too grievous.  Will you finally have to sport a scar?”

Dorian pointed to others in the room who joined the Inquisitor’s laughter.  “To the Void with all of you!  Those little demons hurt.  Besides, that is not the point.”

“The point is that she is in a strange world that she doesn’t understand and if we don’t find something for her to do, she might kill herself.”  Bull’s statement stilled the room, everyone sobered instantly. 

“Don’t worry, Krem knows to not let her out of his sight.  You said it yourself, she’s a decorated soldier and those types don’t know how to live any other way.  Being removed from her homeland has stolen her purpose.  I know.  I’ve seen it before, the fear that takes hold when men turn Tal-Vashoth.” 

“Praxis.”  Fear and concern prompted Dorian to start for the door.  “I have to…”

Bull held a hand up to stop him.  “She needs some quiet to work shit out.”

“We have to do something!  I…You!”  Dorian threw a pointed finger at Cullen.  “We owe our lives to her!”

“Can we even believe her tale of what her healers did?”  Cassandra ventured.  “It’s possible she made it up to gain your favor.”

Dorian sputtered in frustration.  “What?!  You?  This is ridiculous!”

During Dorian’s dramatic display, Cullen steadily removed his shirt.  The incision was fresh, the bruising a light purple color.  Bull also noted yellow and green bruising on the top of his left hand and in the inner side of both his elbows.  _Something_ had been done to him.  For everyone, this was enough proof.   

Bull broke the silence that fell over the room.  “Have Cullen give her some work to keep her mind busy.”

Cullen nodded solemnly, putting his shirt back on.  “My thoughts exactly.  She has extensive experience in running the day-to-day operations of a military base, I do not believe that it would be a difficult transition to do the same here.  I would like to have her working directly for me.  With the relocation, I’m sure I could use the help.”

“Well then, if everyone agrees?”  Mahanon took charge in his gentle, yet firm manner.  He looked to Leliana for her input, she gave a single nod of approval.  “I will leave her in Cullen’s charge, _if_ she agrees to join us.”

***

A few other issues were addressed while everyone was gathered then Josephine hurried off to cancel the rest of the day’s events that would have revolved around funerary rites. 

Throughout the rest of the waning afternoon, Bull kept his distance and watched Praxis’ behavior.  She and Krem didn’t talk often.  In the dining hall near the barracks she didn’t eat.  In the back of his mind he thought of different ways to disarm her if she ever presented her weapon again, according to Dorian, the damn thing was quicker than a crossbow.  The key difference being that this was almost always a one shot kill.  Darkness began to fall over Skyhold and Bull decided that she’d had enough time to work things out on her own. 

He caught up with them on one of the battlement walkways.  “Krem, the boys are ready to do rounds, why don’t you go run them into the ground?”

“Sure thing Chief.”  Krem gave Praxis a firm pat to the shoulder as the only form of comfort he could offer.

“Didn’t get a chance earlier, I’m The Iron Bull.  I’m sure you feel like you just had the shit kicked out of ya.  It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“Do you remember where the dining hall is?”

“No.”  Despondency in her voice.  If she didn’t attempt to remember where the dining hall was, then his suspicion was confirmed.  She wasn’t making plans beyond tonight. 

“Then it sounds like you need to make a decision.  Cullen has a position for you in the Inquisition if you want it.  Otherwise…”  He leaned against a merlon, tilting his head toward the  infinite plunge without actually looking.  “It’s a long way down.”

She stared at him awhile before remarking blandly, “You’ve known since the War Room haven’t you?”  She chuckled as she scooted to sit straddling the stone barrier, real life mimicking the indecision she mentally faced. 

Bull shifted his weight nonchalantly, but he was ready to spring forward if needed.  “Simply put, you could say I’m a people person.” 

She let her head fall backward to rest against the cold stone.   “You’re more than that.  I noticed how you asked a question that would reveal my level of commitment to staying here.”  She turned to look out over the mountains. 

“Krem understood you without words, watching me all day.  He trusts you implicitly which means you engender loyalty.  You not only study people, you understand their motivations.  I can tell by the way you look at people, the way you stand in a room, your mind is constantly working.  There is nothing simple about you, The Iron Bull.”

Interrogations were always pleasurable for Bull.  He enjoyed prying information out of people, finding trinkets and now and then, revealing a true treasure that was buried deep and reluctantly given up. 

This moment with Praxis felt as though he found a dragon’s hoard.  She had every marker that categorized her as secondary noble loin-product, sent off to be fodder for the military.  Her lack of capability would be compensated by the family’s coin while she played at being hero, perhaps even present at a battle or two.  As much as Bull hated to be wrong, he liked the challenge of starting over with her. 

“Are you going to say that you knew that I followed you all evening as well?” 

“No, but I’m not surprised.  How long before you realized I wouldn’t hurt Krem?” 

“For certain?  Never.”

 “That’s fair, wise.”  A cool breeze blew from the mountains and she turned her face into it, savoring the sensation.  “I’ve been here before.”  She opened her eyes to turn her gaze on him.  “I’ve stared into oblivion, wondering if I had the strength...”

Removing her travel cloak revealed that her sleeves were short.  Her right arm was covered from wrist to shoulder in the most intricately detailed tattoo Bull had ever seen.  It depicted a pile of six skulls.  She looked at her arm, rubbing it lightly with her other hand.

“I lost six good men in an ambush and even left a piece of myself on the field.”  Lifting the left leg of her breeches, a crafted metal appendage was strapped in place of where her foot once was, fitted into a matching shoe. 

Most would mistake her forlorn look as one that mourned the loss of her foot, maybe regretted the scared skin up her neck and down her left arm.  No, she regretted that _this_ was all she suffered, that she wasn’t the seventh skull in that pile.  Or even the only one.    

“After the ambush, I had my family to help me.  I looked to them for strength, to my work for purpose.  With all of that gone, what is left?” 

“Their memory.  It’s the reason you have that on your arm, you honor them with your life.”

She sat, quietly absorbing his words. 

Bull didn’t mind, his patience was a small price to pay to know more of this woman. 

“How did you lose your eye?”

“I first met Krem in a border town tavern.  He was getting the shit beat out of him by a Tribune and his men.  One of them was getting ready to land the killing blow.  I made sure it never hit its target.  Ha-ha, fucked ‘em real good too.”

“The bystander effect.”  Bull shrugged at he comment but watched her process his story and then her expression changed, her view of him changed.  “When a person is in trouble, a crowded area of strangers is the least safe place to be.  All of the onlookers will assume that someone else will solve the problem, someone else will help, which leads to no one helping.  Diffusion of responsibility is the natural tendency among a group of strangers, but you don’t buy into that shit.”

Finally, she eased into her posture.  A smile showed off perfect teeth, another tell of the lush life she would no longer know. 

“You’re a good man, for a mercenary.  Too bad you couldn’t get a replacement.”  She tapped at her hazel colored eye.  The ambush must have really fucked her up.  Now his mind wondered how much of her was _her._

“Yeah, that replacement thing your people do is too damn creepy for me.  I’ll pass.”

The chill of the night was becoming uncomfortably cold.  Bull ignored it.  Praxis didn’t pick her cloak back up and he wondered if she ignored it too or if she even could acknowledge it with her thoughts weighing so heavy on her mind.

“I’ve been in your position before, watching over someone who is thought to be unstable.  I have some idea as to what you’re thinking.”

“Alright, what _am_ I thinking now?” 

With a gasp and sudden jerk, it looked as though she would tumble over the side.  Bull cursed himself as he flinched.  She instantly steadied herself from the feint, smiling at him, not mocking or arrogant, but with warm solidarity.  _She wanted to know if we would try and stop her._   “You’re thinking I should quit fucking around and take a meal.”

 “Good to hear, standing up here is boring as shit.”  It wasn’t though.  She wasn’t.  This foreigner was going to be fun to pick apart.  “C’mon.  We can grab something on the way to Cullen’s tower, he’ll let you know what kind of work he’s got for ya.”

With a sigh of relief, she eagerly followed him.  “Please.”

Bull led on, satisfied at the change he saw in her.  When she spoke to him her voice was different, their entire interaction changed as she began to finally see him as a person and not the creature she threatened earlier that day.  Acceptance is a good first step. 

***

When Praxis started her post, she maintained a professional deportment that one would expect of her duty assignment and rank.  Yet, Bull saw the apprehension.  She worried about her performance, which eased Bull’s mind that she wasn’t an accomplished spy.  Simply because she was from another world didn’t negate the possibility that she might exploit the Inquisition’s generosity.  After the first few shipments came in that she organized, her confidence was firmly cemented and she exuded nothing but admirable competency from that day forward, as if she were born for the position.  Her duties began to expand and soon she was as busy as the Commander.  She loved it.  He could see the fulfillment that she found in her work.  Cullen had placed her well.  He must have seen more of her world and her role in it than he had shared in the War Room. 

Bull was getting ready for a few rounds with Krem before he was due to leave with the Inquisitor for the Emprise.  His lieutenant came around a building, face flushed slightly, something only Bull would notice through his darkened skin. 

Laughing low, Bull back-tracked Krem’s path with his eye and saw Praxis walking to her office.  Her gait was happy and carefree, not her usual brisk march when she was going from one task to the next.  It didn’t take long for Krem and the Commander’s new Captain to become more than friendly.  It wasn’t much of a surprise since Krem had to go through her for all of the Chargers gear and equipment.  Bull was slightly jealous, that red hair begged to be pulled, no jerked down, pinning her to the bed.  _I bet she would fight back._

Dismissing the delicious fantasy, he admitted to himself that he was genuinely happy for the Vint.  Besides, she needed an outlet and with the amount of work she took on, she had little time for socializing.  No, she needed to blow off steam and for that, they always go for the pretty ones. 

“Krem, your ear is bleeding.”

“What?”  Reaching up with his hand, a smudge of red confirmed it.  “Shit!  I’ve asked her not to do that.”

Laughing at his expense, Bull struck his two-handed sword in the sand to lean on it.  “She trying to find out what blood magic tastes like?”

“ _Koff_.  More like trying to eat me alive.”  Krem was rubbing at his ear with a scrap of cloth, blotting, checking, waiting for the bleeding to stop.  He huffed with a self-satisfied grin on his face, proud of the ‘problem’ he’d eventually have to deal with.  He shrugged.  “Eh, what can you do?”

Taking up his sword and walking through some defensive stances, Bull offered a warning.  “You just watch yourself.  That woman is sex looking for a place to happen.”

Krem tossed the cloth and grabbed his practice sword and shield.  In agonized condescension, Krem balked at the statement.  “Yes, _mother_.  What next?  You going to warn me where babies come from?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma falon enansal, ar eth - You're a blessing my friend, you're safe.


	4. Falling Hard for Krem (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, ch. 4 is NSFW

Working for the Inquisition was proving to be an adequate distraction.  Each day Praxis came closer to accepting this as her new life.  This army was a different beast than her own, but she found adjusting wasn’t too challenging.  The soldiers of the main army typically kept their distance from her, avoiding casual conversation either due to her position, or to her close relationship with Dorian and Cullen.  The only problem was the other Captains who made remarks on the sly about nepotism, pissed off at seeing her position created one rung below Cullen.  She made a mental note to deal with Captain Bailey, he tended to be the ringleader of rumors and she needed to keep it from morphing into dissention.

Rank and file were less blended than she was accustomed to, which is probably why she got along so well with Krem and the Chargers. He and his company were good people, odd, eccentric, cocky and great for easy conversation.  In the tavern, they didn’t give two shits who anyone was, but around Skyhold, they showed the same respect as anyone else. 

Even when Krem was assigned to watch over her the first day she was in Skyhold, she enjoyed his presence.  He was often quiet, but when he did speak, it was full of purpose, direct and often hilarious.  No matter how chaotic the days would be, spending time with Krem was always a pleasant respite.  Unlike some men she’d been with, he didn’t try to solve her issues, he simply offered support or a welcome sensual distraction, trivial problems easily forgotten under the pressure of his roughened fingers and attentive lips.  He never made any of the typical romantic gestures of flowers or some other nonsense she didn’t particularly care for.  No, his show of affection was found in his eyes, his teasing smile, the way he brought her into the fold of the Chargers’ lively drinking while copping a feel under the table.  Their relationship was slowly escalating and she couldn’t be happier. 

The Inquisition seemed to grow by the minute.  As the recruits turned into full-fledged soldiers, they needed battle ready armor, weapons.  The quantities she needed were beginning to outstrip the ability of their normal suppliers and she either needed to find a new source or mix and match from multiple merchants to cut down on delivery timelines.  Tomorrow she had a meeting with Josephine to determine how soon the Inquisitor could travel to the Hinterland farms to finish with the rifts there.  It was a difficult balance, deciding between the wants of the nobles who funded the Inquisition and the commoners who fed the Inquisition.  If a compromise couldn’t be found, she’d have to reach out across the Waking Sea.  More time, more money.  Food supplies were an important necessity since the Inquisition not only needed to feed the troops at Skyhold, but also supplement the outposts in Orlais and Ferelden along with the refugee camps that tended to spring up nearby.    

“Fucking merchants are making a killing out of this war.”

“Rough day?”  Praxis looked up from her neatly piled, sorted and cross-referenced stacks of work orders, reports, and…whatever this one is.  She slid that piece of paper off to the side of the desk to handle later.  Right now, there was a gorgeous man propped against the wall who offered the perfect excuse to take a break.

“I wouldn’t mind if it got a _little_ rougher.”  Walking across the room, brushing shoulders with Krem as she shut the door to her office behind him. 

In the darkened privacy, Krem wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into him, holding their bodies tight.  She caved, melting in his strength, craning her neck for the perfect angle to taste him.  Kisses came gentle, unceasing, broken only by amused smiles now and again.  That tongue, God how she loved when he traced her bottom lip before dipping into her mouth.  Letting out a soft laugh, her moment of glee came from recognizing the drink flavoring his mouth, “Chasind sack mead?  Strong stuff, what’s the occasion?”

The only answer was his hands, absent their gauntlets, reaching into her uniform, following previously discovered paths to claw into her flesh.  Needy moans coursed through her whole body, standing on tiptoe, pushing closer to him, yearning for more, she grabbed at his armor and pulled hard.  He started to stumble but instead, kept the forward momentum and with a few quick strides, forced her against the desk. 

“ _Uh-mmf._ ”  Their kiss never broke.  She felt like a drooling lecher while adjusting to sit on the edge of the desk, wrapping her legs around Krem in a firm squeeze.   She felt Krem’s whole body stiffen at the action and he turned his head away, ending the tasteful feast. 

“Praxis, I need to explain something.”  His forehead fell to hers, his eyes hidden from her.  “I’m not…built like other men.”

“It’s alright, I understand.”  She'd known he was transgender for about a week, after a drunken night with Skinner brought up all kinds of embarrassing subjects.  Praxis hoped the elf had forgotten most of them, _ugh_ , especially the story that involved salad dressing and two police officers.  

Hands resting on his shoulders, she offered a deep kiss, bucking up against him, hoping to convey her sincerity that it didn’t matter.  “We’ll take it slow, if you’re still interested.”

A relieved sigh, then he quirked his lip up deviously.  “You know I am.” 

Krem began to undress her in earnest, undoing her belt, untying the jerkin and shoving it down her arms.  The hunger written on his face made her breath catch.  She wanted to see more of his excitement, she impatiently ripped her undershirt off…and then cursed herself.  She had been so swept up in the moment that she had forgotten her own flaws. 

Other men she had been with, shied away from her scars, one even abandoned her in bed before anything began.  The visible ones on her hand and face hinted at the fireball that had thrown her fifteen feet when the blast went off, but her lower body bore the brunt of the damage.  The entire left side was slathered with white and tan skin having a slick, leather-like texture.  She finally braved a look at Krem, curious to know if it bothered him. 

His greedy eyes stayed on her breasts, watching his hands undo the laces of her breast band. 

_He didn’t care._

Never had she felt so aroused, wanting nothing more than to do anything to rip pleasured moans from his throat.  For this one grace, he deserved everything and she wanted to give it to him.    

Thinking of previous failed encounters, she was desperate not to fuck this up.  “I can get carried away sometimes, is there anything that I shouldn’t say?”

“Bitch.  Not for me,”  He let go of the half-done laces and looked at her intently, caressing her face gently.  “and not for you.  You have no idea the hate that can be put behind that word.”

Her hands flanked his face, running her fingers along the shaved sides of his head, drawing him in for a kiss as she nodded, sealing her promise.  His mouth moved to her jaw, neck, shoulders, until he pressed his face in the center of her chest, using his hands to fluff her tits around his face.  She couldn’t help but giggle.  With a playfully irritated grunt, Krem turned her laugh into a pitched gasp when he suckled on her, flicking her nipple with his tongue, raking it with his teeth in between deep sucks. 

“Oh my God, Krem!” 

He tilted his head slightly, only one eye visible over her plump mound.  “Your god am I?”

“Fuck, yes!” She was becoming breathless, her breasts heaving into his face and she reveled in how soft her skin felt against his sun-weathered face.  Delirious, her head lolled backward from his teasing treatment.  “Yes, please, _yes!_ ”

Krem dipped back down for more, Praxis threaded her fingers into his hair, her nails scrapped his scalp to draw out the most titillating moans.  He moved suddenly to change sides.  “ _Shit-ah_!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Your armor, it pinched me.”  Her wish to not mention it lost to her desire for comfort. 

He leaned backward slightly, relaxing his arms to rest his hands on her knees.  She reached out, but drew her hands back.  “I don’t know where to begin.”

Krem took her hand, placing a kiss on the wrist before guiding it to a set of straps that ran down his sides, his lustful grin a siren call that her body couldn’t resist.  Praxis took her time, enjoying unwrapping her man-present, memorizing how to remove the armor on her own later.  Feeling the weight of each piece, knowing how swiftly he moved in the practice ring, her arousal hitched up another notch at the thought of him conquering her.  She wanted to drown underneath the warrior, awash in the strength coiled behind his every gentle touch.  

Two straps crisscrossed over his chest, holding the pauldrons in place, she tugged on them before releasing the tautness with a flick of a buckle, earning a small chuckle from him, which she kissed, hoping it would stay in place as she spoke with their lips still pressed together.  “Don’t be so serious.”

All of the other smaller pieces were easily discarded to the floor, clanking together in a pile.  She ran her fingers along the collar of his undershirt, asking with wide eyes what she should do. 

He clenched his eyes shut at her touch, his breathing labored with anticipation.  His words were tentative, testing the waters of her possible reaction.  “The pour-point stays on.”

Nodding in agreement, then gracing him with a impudent smirk, lightening the mood.  “Worried I’ll leave marks?”

“Marks?  I’m certain you’d spell your name if given the chance.”

She let her hands roll over the well-defined muscles in his shoulders, down over his biceps squeezing at the bulges of pure strength.  Even through the thin padding of the garment, it was obvious that Krem could seriously fuck someone up.  The thought sent delectable shivers down her spine.  Conscious of why he wanted to keep his shirt on, she avoided his chest area and skipped to the sides of his ribs, then his tight, flat belly, abs clenching under her fingers. 

She sucked in a reverent breath through her teeth.  “Holy shit, Krem, you feel amazing.”

Her hands ran along the waist of his breeches, his smile faltered, then was set with resolve as he distracted her with languid, probing kisses while he blindly worked the last of his clothes off.  She returned them, but not as delicate, quicker, persistent, sucking on his tongue, lips, anything that she could wrap her mouth around. 

In a haze, she leaned her head on his shoulder, a hand on his bare hip, her thumb rubbing against the bone.  “Do you want me to touch it?”

“No.  No…I want…What I mean to say is…”  Krem ran a hand through his hair in an awkward movement, hindered by the fact Praxis was draped against him.  His mind couldn’t find the right words that he was searching for. 

“ _I_ want you to relax.”  She licked sweet kisses up his neck before nibbling a cord of muscle in his neck. 

“Tell me.”  Growling into his skin, she dug her fingers into his firm ass, pressing her breasts against his chest then moaned hot and breathily in his ear.

“Show me.”  Her enthusiasm never wavered, only increasing with eager fingers that flowed over every hill and valley of his perfectly toned body, feeling the heat of his skin welcoming her touch. 

Her lips skimmed over his, her sultry voice flowing into this panting mouth.  “How do _you_ want to fuck me?”

Broken.  Snapped. All restraint was crushed to powder by the surge of pure lust that brought their bodies colliding together, slamming on top of the desk, creating an explosion of paper around them.  Any lingering hesitation was forgotten.  Their bodies bucked against each other sinuously, matched to the ebb and flow of grunts and throaty sighs.  Krem was quickly irritated at the barrier of her breeches and moved off the desk to rip them from her figure.  He dragged her by the thighs to the edge of the desk.  Her body screamed at the way he handled her, possessive, demanding, the sensation of being taken was intoxicating. 

The next hour was nothing but needy hands, bruised lips, pressed skin, mouths devouring every sweat slicked surface and the euphoric joy of being fulfilled by joining together in something so primal, so wonderful.  Her mind and body were overwhelmed, overcome with the intensity that pulsed between them.  She could feel herself being swept up to the height of an inevitable wave. 

Whimpering into his shoulder, she beggedin hurried, frantic pants, she _begged_ for completion.  “Krem, please, **_please!_** ”

His hands began to slip with their combined sweat but his movements were still ecstasy as he managed to find the energy to drive harder, finally destroying her sanity when he sent her limp, tangle of nerves over the cliff of orgasmic bliss. 

Mindful of the patrols that passed by her door, she was thankful for the padding of his undershirt.  Her teeth clamped down hard into the fabric to suffocate the brunt of her scream.  That still didn’t stop how it rendered her throat dry and hoarse from the involuntary eruption, her body arching against Krem just to feel more of him, always wanting more. 

“Fuck, FUCK!”  He snarled knowing he was right behind her, their pleasure tethered together.  Sweat dripped from his hair, his nose, the drops left vainly attempting to cool the fire that burned between them.  Finally, he had to grit his teeth to muzzle his own howl, his throat bubbling with the aggressively feral noise. 

His head fell to one side, spent.  He laid a few feathery kisses with thick huffs of breath on her shoulders, at times dragging his lips between spots.  When she fell slack in his arms, he laid her down on the desk with a pleased hum. 

Keeping her eyes shut, trying to keep hold of the wisps of sated lust as they began to fade, she heard Krem putting his breeches back on.  “How can you _move_ after that?”

“Warrior’s stamina.  You know how it is.”  It was the same clipped cadence that Krem always used, but this time she could hear the smugness.  Who could blame him?

“I do now.”  Her laugh was quiet, lacking energy. “I can still taste the mead.  You never did answer my question.”

“Oh right.  That.”  Something distracted him, she followed his gaze to find bits of papers sticking to her flushed skin.  Krem started peeling them off, careful to not smudge them any further than they already were.  “Thought I could use a bit of liquid encouragement.”

“Well, now I’m put out that you didn’t share.”  Her joyful tone faded slightly.  “It’s not often that someone looks past, well, this.”  She flicked her hand toward her marred skin and amputation as if they were nothing, but they were.  To others, they always were.

Lacking the metal greaves, Krem padded silently around the room unnoticed until he stood over Praxis’ head gifting her one last passionate kiss, she breathed deep to capture his sweaty post sex smell. 

“I know what you mean.  We all have scars to bear.”

***

Two weeks marched on, the both of them working to the bone during the day then liberating themselves at night, becoming lost with one another.  They relocated to Praxis’ quarters in the castle proper after she had to re-write three reports that she refused to give Cullen in their smudged state.  Each night became bolder than the one before as they learned to mold together, hitting tender spots, sucking sensitive areas and leaving discreet bruises that were hidden under uniforms.  The cycle was pleasantly soothing and Praxis didn’t want it to stop, but she saw the end coming before Krem had a chance to say a word.

He waited outside her office, a letter in his hands. “Praxis.” 

Faking a happy greeting, she gestured to the door.  “Let’s go inside and talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pour-point - Heavily quilted and padded in key places where sharp parts of the armor contacted the skin, the pour-point was a close-fitting shirt that buttoned down the front.


	5. Dorian is My Opiate (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting over a breakup usually results in bad decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for recreational drug use.

Lace Harding arrived a few short days after her letter.  Krem instantly attached himself to her.  She was beautiful, Praxis had to give her that.  Accomplished, fearless, talented rogue, _ugh,_ perfect.  She couldn’t find it in herself to be mad at Krem, she still liked him too much.  They both knew their relationship was mostly physical, yet the rejection still stung.     

_“You know that if you make this decision, that you can never come back.  If I’m not what you want now, then I won’t be what you need later.”_

_“I know.  Thank you for understanding.”_

She was thankful it was a light day when she locked up the office earlier than normal.  Typically, she bathed with the other soldiers in the community baths, but since she had helped Josephine with a few favors, the Ambassador offered her servant services whenever she had need and tonight, she had need.  For the first time in the six weeks since she arrived in Skyhold, she called for a bath to be drawn in her room.

In her mind, it took forever in comparison to being back home.  Watching the whole process made her homesick for the ease of plumbing.  _Great.  That’s just another fabulous source of misery._  

She was deep in the water when she realized that she hadn’t bothered to collect any soaps to have at the ready.  She could see them sitting on the dresser on the other side of the room. 

“It’s just not my fucking day.”  Letting out a frustrated grunt that would have made Cassandra envious, she gave up on everything and simply sunk to the bottom of the tub, her legs dangling over the edge from the knee down, to help keep her upper body submerged.  The escape was exactly what she was looking for.  All the noise of the fortress was blocked out, the warm water hugged her entire body, she closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the illusion of being a million miles away.

Until some asshole had to pull her out of the water and ruin it all.

“Oh, God Dorian!  For shit’s sake what are you doing here?!”  Slipping within his grip, he only released her when she settled down, firmly holding the tub’s edge as she sat. 

“I went looking for you and you weren’t in your office, I was told off by some pathetic whelp, saying that you had taken a short day.”  He pointed a teasing finger at her.  “You don’t take time off work, not even to sleep around with Krem.”

“Wow.  Alright, it’s somewhat creepy that you know that.”

“Well, let’s just say that on more than one occasion I’ve had want for a drinking partner only to find that you had ‘retired’ for the evening.”

“Do you drink every night?”  Slapping at her forehead, she belatedly realized that she had confessed to sleeping with Krem that often. 

“That’s beside the point.  I saw him having a rather _friendly_ chat with Scout Harding which led me to make the correct assumption that I would find you here.”

She scoffed.  “At the bottom of a bathtub?”

“Don’t make light of this, not now.  You aren’t half as good at it as I am.”  His flippancy changed to concern.  “Sweeting, what happened?”

Slipping down a bit in the tub, her head rested against the warm metal.  “He got a letter from Lace, something about apologies…and I don’t know.  I quit listening to half of it.  Basically she sent him a note and now’s she’s here and that’s the end of that.”

“The cad!”  An inspired glint twinkled in his eye.  “You want that I set his clothes on fire?  He can be wearing them or not, entirely dealer’s choice.”

She chuckled at Dorian being sweetly defensive.  “Thank you but no.  It’s clear that he’s cared for her long before he met me and we never got around to any confessions, so it was actually good timing in its own way.”

“Honestly woman you are the worst liar I have yet to come across.  ‘Good timing’?  I believe what you meant was, ‘he called it off before I made a fool of myself’, is that it?  You truly cared for him did you not?”

She splashed water at him, which he deftly avoided with the utmost grace.  “I thought I did.  You’re worse than Cole sometimes.”

“A-ha!  I knew I would hit the mark.  Care to drink yourself into a stupor with me?”

“I’m not really interested in drinking.”

“Oh, yes, I see.  Tavern isn’t precisely the best venue at the moment is it?  Ah, yes!  I have a better idea if you are amenable.”

She folded her arms on the rim of the tub, trying to judge the mischievous look on his face.  “Alright.  Hand me a towel and my foot and I’m game.”

***

Praxis had never been to Dorian’s rooms since he was typically easy to find in the library.  She kept her laugh to herself how everything within was very much _Dorian_.  Thick dark blue drapes outlined his windows, the lush silver embroidery swirled over the fabric as it puddled on the floor.  A plain wooden dresser was adorned with a silver ewer and bowel, both intricately engraved with a similar pattern found in the drapes.  Other hygiene items were precisely arranged next to the bowel, quite possibly all of it was part of a set.  Praxis walked over to his bed, which was a standard piece that matched the one in her room, but the bedding matched the curtains, quilted in a large diamond pattern that she couldn’t resist touching.  The slick silk melted under her touch as if it were a cloud, the downy feathers stuffed within gave no resistance.  Across from the bed were two wing back chairs and a large round chaise lounge, all arranged around the fireplace.  The whole room had a certain fragrance to it that she could only describe as…purple. 

“As you may be able to surmise, I still have plans for the space that have taken longer than anticipated to follow through to fruition.”  Dorian huffed his annoyance at the mismatch of decor.

“Dorian are you sure that you’re comfortable letting a filthy soldier near such finery?  I’m certain just looking around will soil something.” 

He shrugged.  “You just had a bath so there is no issue.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, tossing a teasing barb.  “Because otherwise there would be?”

Dorain sauntered over to a curio in the corner, ignoring the baited words.  It had a black lacquer finish with silver and mother of pearl inlays of stylized stags and flora.  Withdrawing a glass blown hookah topped with a silver and gem encrusted stem, he set the apparatus on a battered coffee table.  The artistry of the fanciful piece would have made the Cheshire Cat green with envy.  She’d smoked shisha with friends at hookah bars before, although she was certain Dorian had something a bit stronger in mind than sweetened tobacco. 

A little voice in the back of her head told her this was a terrible idea.

Therefore, it was the best idea. 

Praxis chose the rounded chaise lounge, settling on her side to watch as Dorian packed some type of herb in the bowl then heated the coals in his hands.  “Has anyone told you that you have an artist’s fingers?”

“Quite a few times actually, however, not in such a chaste setting.”  She loved watching the smug grin he wore whenever he received a compliment.  It was annoying yet, surprisingly endearing.  She could never resist being amused at his remarks. 

Dorian took a few quick, deep draws on the hose, pulling the smoke of the heated herbs down through the stem to the water in the glass bottom.  This smoke didn’t behave the way normal smoke did.  It swirled and dissipated into the water similar to a thick liquid instead of a delicate vapor. 

He handed the hose to her.  “Here, I shan’t be the one doing all the work _and_ hosting.”

“Admit it, you want to watch me suck on something.”  She gave the mouthpiece a little lick before putting it into her mouth. 

He gave a mild chuckle that managed to sound elegant and rich, the tease and mockery he placed in his words were like honey to a fly.  “You’ve caught me my lady.  The mage from Tevinter has lured you into his clutches for an evening of blood rituals and debauchery.” 

“With a silken voice like yours, you could coax Andraste to partake in such an evening.”  She watched his hands dip back into the curio to retrieve glasses and a nice bottle of fine Orlesian port.  “Wow, how did you bribe Josephine for one of those?”

Dorian folded over beautifully into a gracious bow while still keeping hold of the three glass items.  “I humbly took it upon myself to _relieve_ the Inquisition of such finery that would have been wasted on one of those foppish, social climbers who call themselves ‘noble’.”

“You stole it?  Geez, Dorian you need to tell me these things.”  She took another pull from the hose, this time finally getting a decent mist that she exhaled through her nose slowly.  “I deal with that merchant, I can hide your pilfering and fix it so the cost is thrown on her instead of the Inquisition.”

“Oh, I knew I liked you for a reason.”  He handed her a full glass, taking the hose so he could lay on the overly large chaise then have it draped over him as he smoked.  Praxis propped her head up only long enough to down her drink. 

She stared at the empty glass.  “I’m not mad at him you know.  Krem was always honest.  I thought that my streak had finally ended.” She traded him the glass for the hose.  A large puff later, she laid out her unease. 

“Did I ever tell you that I tried hitting on Chris when he and Hunter were dating?  I didn’t know they were together.”  She gave a frustrated sigh.  Another exchange put a full glass in her hand.  “That’s where the joke began, then continued after a few more failed pairings.  I am irrevocably drawn to men that are _completely_ unavailable.”

“Pray, don’t mention them.  Your brother’s perfect relationship will have my lunch revisiting us at any moment.”

“I know right?  Assholes make it seem so damn easy.”

“Relationship.  _Peh!_   As if one simply goes to the nearest merchant to purchase one.  ‘Pardon me but I would like the lovely one over there.  No, no, not that one, it’s so last season, I want the one with no complications attached!’”

“The only change you need to make in that scenario is that the fucker is constantly out of stock and you’d have us.”

“I do believe you have the right of it there.”  He took another draw, letting the smoke rest a moment in his mouth before releasing. 

She took the offered mouthpiece, sucking deep, chasing after the mental dormancy the mysterious herbs would bring.  “What I need is a fuck buddy.  No relationship expected.  I can’t keep doing this the normal way, it’s just not working.”

Dorian chuckled to himself, spurting out the words as his laughter would allow.  “You…ha-ha, you want a…a ‘fuck buddy’?”

The opiates were definitely settling into his system, she could see him became even more relaxed, if that were possible. 

 _When did he loosen his robes open?_  

She let her gaze drink in every inch of exposed skin on his chest.  Damn he was fine to look at. With him knowing how gorgeous he was made it all the better since he developed the habit of always placing himself on display, arranging his perfectly toned body like the feast for the eyes that it was. 

“What about you and Mahanon?  Aren’t you happy together?”

“He…wants to make things more, complicated.  I’m not sure how to handle that.”

“He wants to get serious?  Well, shit, now that makes more sense.”

He quirked her an appraising brow.  “Does it?”

“When he left Skyhold a few weeks ago, he seemed upset.  He hid it well, but he was…off.  If you two had an argument, well…”

“ _Hmf._   Well, indeed.”  The rare gruff voice hinted at the heated argument that resulted in the Inquisitor’s dampened spirits. 

The two inept lovelorn friends left it at that.  Both at a loss, for anything, neither fit to advise the other but both understanding the turmoil the other dealt with.  Drinking and smoking filled the rest of the night.  The actual hour became unknown as counting bells was impossible and the darkness had claimed the windows hours ago, or was it only moments?  It didn’t matter.

In a randomly inspired moment, Dorian looked her head on.  “Your eyes are positively mesmerizing in this state.” 

“ _Mmmm_ , keep talking.”  She drew nearer to him, speaking low, letting the buzz from the opiates caress her every movement and mingle with her words.  She rolled onto her back, squirming into the softness of the cushions.  “I can listen to your velvety voice all night.” 

Imagines around her were slightly hazy, she thought she could actually _feel_ his words landing on her, melting gently into her muscles.  She loosened the buttons of her shirt, not paying attention if any skin peered through.

A devilish grin grew slowly on Dorian’s handsome face.  “I have to ask, how do your breasts keep that exquisite shape?  Is it something you wear, because I know more than a few women who would have need for such a thing.”

She gave a small laugh, pleased with how drunk she felt.  It wasn’t heavy like alcohol, this was a dizzying etherealness, almost like floating in water but with the muted feeling of exhilaration she felt when jumping from a plane. 

“They’re fake.  The explosion from the ambush did serious damage on my left side and since I was going to need reconstruction anyway, I figured I might as well do both to get the size that I prefer.”

“I will never cease to be amazed at how blasé your culture is with surgeries.”  Dorian licked his lips, his eyes darkened.  She could almost read his mind, but dismissed it as impossible.  “May I touch them?”

It was possible. 

 _Oh – yes, fuck yes!_   “Sure, they’re bought and paid for.  I’m sure that a man of your discerning taste will know quality when he feels it.”

She thought he was going to feel through her shirt, but when he slipped his hand through the unbuttoned gap, gently fondling to answer his curiosity, she was ecstatic.  In her euphoric state, she held zero reservations in arching into his touch and hissing out a low moan.  

“Oh, my dear sweeting, it hasn’t even been a week.”  Dorian was crazed with the power he held over her, she could hear it in his voice as he spoke delicately in her ear.  “Rather despicable state that Krem left you in, really.”

The fabric on the chaise was relatively plain compared to the rest of the room, yet the soft embroidered cotton was fire under her fingertips, her nerves sparking with lust at every brush against her skin.  She clutched at the fabric, bunching it up ruthlessly in her grip as Dorian lazily played with one of her nipples.  His head dipped, eyes drifting, unfocused, while his mouth parted, panting at a recalled memory.

Seeing the opportunity, she seized it.  “Thinking of our dear Inquisitor are you?  Are you thinking of his muscled chest?  How his nimble fingers drag across your ribs, your abs, creating a stream of paths down to your hips.  How much does your cock love to have his hands firmly gripping your skin, pulling you towards that flawless face of his?”

“Kaffas, muliercula!  Festis bei umo canavarum.”  He fell to his back, his hands hastily, drunkenly, ripping at the loops and ties of his trousers, freeing his semi-hard erection.  The grip of his own hand elicited a rough groan that marked him just as needy as she was for the indulgence in carnal pleasure. 

“Yes.  Just like that.”  She whispered low and deep next to him.  “Get it ready, prime your thick cock for his pretty little mouth.  You like pressing it against his lips, he teases you when he refuses you.”

As she spoke, she reached down into her own trousers to massage her building desire.  Instantly, the touch felt amazing.  She gasped.  _Fuck me these drugs are amazing._  

Dorian reacted, even with eyes shut, he knew she was giving herself pleasure while watching him.  Being on display, shamelessly speaking of the Holy Inquisitor, her fingers delved into her wet folds, swimming within the thrill of the exhibitionism. 

“Do you like how his big green eyes look up at you while your dick glides in and out of his beautiful mouth?  _Ah, yes, just like that._ They are begging you know.  Begging for you to grab his hair so you can thrust deep into his throat.  I bet he smiles each time you pull out of him.  Does he kiss the tip?  Does his tongue dip into the slit, teasing you, tasting you?”

She rubbed her legs together while watching Dorian’s sweat bead on his chest, dampening his hair as he changed from slow pumps to simply fucking his hand, bucking his hips at particular words that hit home.  She imaged him inside her, the force of his movements reverberating through her whole body, stealing her breath away.  She ached to see the rough tugs he did that ended with his thumb glazing his cock’s head, slicking the digit in his juice, increasing her thirst.  They were both writhing lazily on the chaise, seeking the right amount of friction, the perfect combination of movements that would push them to release.  She pinched at her nipple, fingers pressing hard in her breast, he cupped his balls, neither of them inhibited by the impropriety.  Instead, it removed any lingering barriers. 

This was happening and there was no going back.

“Does he let you come on his face?  Painting over his vallaslin?”  She had to focus to speak clearly, everything was beginning to build too high, hinting at the impending crash.  “Or does he swallow it?  Milking every ounce out of you, fingers clenched firmly over your ass, creeping to play with your tight asshole.”  Dorian was twitching uncontrollably, his teeth bared, is rhythm erratic. 

She slowed her words, letting her lips drift over the shell of his ear.  “Tell me Dorian, how many times can he make you cum with those delightful fingers sliding _in_ and _out_ of your lovely ass?  How bad have you wanted him to slide his hard dick in you?  Taking you from behind, he pulls at your hair, slamming home, your balls slapping together.  You dirty little Vint, you love giving into that sweet elf.  He comes in you thick and hot.  It drips delectably down your body…but he doesn’t stop.  He.  Just.  Keeps.  Going.”

She had finally said too much.  A hearty moan and he came thickly all over himself.  They both watched in breathy ‘ _ahs’_ while the white liquid roped over his body.  Deep thick growls heaved from his chest to help release the shameless lust.  At the sight of his eruption, Praxis came hard, her thighs squeezing tight, body convulsing, wanting to curl around another person who wasn’t there.  Her head snapped to one side to scream in the pillow, biting down as she came, squirming at the right times to hit the peaks, thrusting against her shaky hand.  Normally, masturbating would leave her with a hollow, empty feeling.  Not this time.  The sensitivity stayed with her, pulsed in her blood, and kept her floating in the blissful completion that she had desperately needed. 

Seeing Dorian covered in his own seed kept her heart pounding.  She leaned her head forward slightly, touching Dorian’s forehead with hers, both of them working their lungs to find enough air with large winded gulps.  He reached for her first, rubbing at her upper arm. 

“I’ve…this…fasta vass…this was…”

“Good?”

“Naughty!”  She chuckled at how his mind was so deep in ecstasy that he was having trouble speaking.  Praxis placed a closed fist under his chin, using her thumb to pull down on his bottom lip softly. 

“If I am going to get a ‘free pass’ tonight, I will not squander it.”

She moved lower and without a moment’s hesitation, began licking up the spilled cum sprayed all over his stomach.

“Futuos, futuos!  Collambus cuncta!”  Dorian incoherently blurted out in Tevene, but she had a decent guess at his meaning and continued to cleanse his strapping body with gusto.  Her tongue enjoyed riding the waves of hurried breathes that throbbed in his chest.  She leered at him before finishing the job by devouring his slick arousal.  She reveled in feeling the shock that rattled his entire body and sent his head flailing backward.  Releasing him with a fat ‘pop’, his member going soft as he cooled down.  She wasn’t insulted, she wasn’t his type after all.  She counted herself lucky that he allowed this much.

“Maker’s blood!  You have a deliciously filthy mouth.  And here I thought women were useless in bacchanalias.  Touché sweeting.” 

***

The following day was brutal.  Praxis knew the port created the pounding behind her eyes, but the gnawing at her bones, that was a new one.  It must have been from the herbs and fuck did it hurt.  The idiocy of it all is that she would do it again.  The lightness, the nothing that smoking brought was the type of escape she had sought when she was with Krem.  She needed an outlet and it seemed that only sex or drugs would meet her need.

She sat on the front two-thirds of her chair, both feet firmly planted flat next to each other, her right hand held a report while the other rested on the desk, fisted as if she were holding a roll of quarters.   Years of protocol and decorum were drummed into her muscle memory and helped to keep her attentive and productive while working.  She had made it through the day without issue and was eager to crash hard in her bed. 

With a stiff nod she thanked the messenger who understood the dismissal.  The messenger brushed shoulders with Commander Cullen when he exited.

Cullen offered his greeting when she stood, respectfully acknowledging his presence.  “Good evening Captain.”

“Good evening Commander.”  She gave her salute in their fashion with a fist to the chest. 

Cullen shut the door behind him before crossing his arms smugly across his chest.  “Long night last evening?”

She kept her stiffened posture, hands clasped behind her back as she was accustomed to, though allowing her head a move due to their familiarity.  “Nothing that will hinder my work, Ser.”

“You left Dorian’s quarters rather early this morning, looking a bit worse for wear.  Is there something we need to discuss?” 

Praxis studied him a moment.  The arch of his eyebrows, the line of his mouth, even his posture, his hands as they tapped on his armor.  He wasn’t concerned about her ‘stealing’ Dorian away from the Inquisitor, and he knew better than to believe the ridiculous lies that Dorian was a spy from Tevinter.  No, he knew why she spent the night with Dorian.  “Expert at assessing addiction are we?”

His beautiful smirk split the white skin of the scar through his lip a little wider.  “You could say that.”  He walked up with slow, easy steps to lean on her desk with his hip, a hand idly sifting through papers.  He kept his eyes downward until his last word.  “More importantly, I was wondering if you would like some company?”

The unexpected offer piqued her interest.  _No, surely not him too?  He’s too…Chantry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kaffas, muliercula! Festis bei umo canavarum** – Shit you minx! You will be the death of me.
> 
>    
>  **Futuos, futuos! Collambus cuncta** \- Fuck, fuck! Thoroughly lick up all of it.
> 
> Next chapter will be another NSFW but loaded with dem feelz to shake things up.


	6. To Forgive is Divine (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and the Inquisitor take things further.

It had become so late that Dorian gave up on rest and resigned himself to gaze out at the horizon from the battlements in the twilight of the early morning.  He’d had trouble sleeping since his night with Praxis three days ago.  It wasn’t that he felt any shame or embarrassment from it.  He’d done far more scandalous things in his past, involving a greater number of people.  It was her ‘gift’ suggestion kept Mahanon in the forefront of his thoughts, which made him anxious for the Inquisitor’s return.  At the time, he scoffed at her while surreptitiously memorizing each word she said.  Abstaining from many of his favorite indulgences kept her in his ire, though he never admitted that he was actually following her advice.  Still, it was fun to be angry at a friend when perversion was involved.

 The sound of a door unlatching caught his attention.  It came from the Commander’s tower and he didn’t think Cullen ever locked his door.  Slinking out of the widening crack, Praxis appeared, drowning in one of the Commander’s linen shirts, her leisure clothes a bundle in her hands.

Taken aback to find that the whisperings he had herd were true, he inspected what bits of clothing he could see in her arms – they were torn to ribbons.  Dorian’s cock instinctively pulsed at the thought of the demure Commander Cullen turning savage and literally ripping the clothes off his prey. 

The image swiftly morphed to replace the participants with himself and Mahanon.  A rush of lust swept through him.

_It has been far too long._

Praxis smiled, then waved at him in a greeting without stopping, obviously ready to be in her own clothes but her expression held no humiliation.  Her steps weren’t rushed and she even hummed a jaunty tune.   Surely he would be able to speak with her about it later.  Gears turned in his head as he thought on how to bribe juicy details out of her, perhaps even discover exactly what the Commander kept under that thick mane. 

The hours passed quietly, the perfect environment for Dorian to practice his words for Mahanon when he returned, trying to predict what the Herald would say then figuring out how to refute his possible protests.  

_Do we need to move things so quickly?_

_Quickly?  We’ve been positively chaste by my standards._

_It seems a little sudden._

_What is it you want from me exactly?  A relationship?_

Dorian had said it sarcastically, never once thinking that Mahanon would respond positively.  He was unprepared for that and his caustic reaction was not well received.  Dorian tried to banish the ensuing argument from his mind, but it kept coming back, harassing him, taunting him with the dreaded thought – _He’s done with you._

Eventually the sun began to warm the morning to the daily high of slightly above freezing.  By midmorning, the Inquisitor’s party finally arrived.  There was no need for Dorian to move from his location to watch them ride through the portcullis and dismount at the stables.  The Iron Bull made his presence adequately known by shouting clear across the yard causing birds to take flight.  It seems that some of his men did something he wasn’t happy with, sad really.  Having a mercenary band must be as dreadfully trying as being a nanny for small children.  Small children who could wield a broadsword, Dorian shuddered at the thought.

Now that the team was back, Dorian spared no more of his precious time being idle and uncomfortable out in the elements and retreated to his alcove in the library.  It’s not that he feared meeting Mahanon’s gaze and letting him know that he had waited for him, Dorian truly did have important work that called for his attention. 

Once he remembered what that was. 

The hours passed with Dorian sitting in his chair, a book in his lap whose title hadn’t been read since he picked it up.  His glare had long since stopped darting from book to stairwell and simply stayed transfixed on the steps expectantly.  It was almost time for the midday meal.  Mahanon began a tradition in Haven that the first meal following the return of a team from a mission would be attended by the entire inner circle to catch up on any number of trite goings-on. 

Dorian readjusted his posture while he debated internally.  Their reunion was planned so perfectly in his mind, he could practically see it play out before his eyes.

Mahanon would seek him out, apologize, Dorian would accept humbly, Mahanon would shower him with flattering observations, then Dorian would sweep him up in a kiss to make up for the time they were separated. 

Unceremoniously, and with no small amount of agitation, he tossed the random tome into the corner before storming elegantly out of the library. 

His first guess at finding Mahanon in the War Room was correct.  “Where have you been?”

Mahanon checked his surroundings, as if they may have suddenly changed during the time he stared at the table, surrounded by missives.  “Here?” 

“I have been waiting all morning for you to come by and yet instead I find myself seeking you out.  It’s damned inconvenient!” 

Mahanon’s eyes flicked around in his sockets, searching for a rationale to Dorian’s outburst.  “I’m…sorry?”

“That sounds more like a question.  Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Oh.”  Mahanon leaned back knowingly on his heels, straightening his posture and stepping back from the war table.  “That’s what this is about.  You have already made it clear that you are not interested.”

“Vishante Kaffas!  That’s not what I meant!”  Dorian massaged his temples, furious with himself that this was the moment his silver tongue chose to be inarticulate.  His anger was soon redirected when he heard Mahanon gently laughing.  “Something you find inordinately amusing at this particular moment?!”

Arms crossing his chest, Mahanon simply tilted his head, delight dancing in his eyes.  “You.”

With a fierce gaze, Dorian stalked up to the Inquisitor, pointing an accusatory finger across the table.  “Are you mocking me?”

A sly grin sprouted up one side of the Herald’s face.  “Mock you?  Impossible.”

Hope warmed Dorian’s chest, thankful to see his playful friend once more.  He rounded the massive war table, closing in like a predator, his voice lower and husky.  “You should be careful when teasing an evil blood mage from Tevinter.  We do tend to dole out rather harsh punishments for mockery.”

Mahanon struck up a hand that stopped Dorian in his tracks.  “Wait.  I need to understand, we need to be clear about us.”

Stopping suddenly, Dorian’s eyes widened.  “Are you seriously suggesting that I apologize to you?!”  Resuming his walk at a slower pace, Dorian locked eyes with Mahanon, lost in the dazzling emerald color.  

“Just because you are the Herald of Andraste does not mean that I will confess how deeply I regret my words.  Or let you know how you fill my every thought.”

Dorian’s tone and tempo began to drop, matching his languid stroll, encouraged by the softened expression on Mahanon’s face, a devilish, amused grin begging Dorian to continue.  “That I long to make you laugh, that I love how your ears droop and twitch when you are deep in thought.”

Standing beside one another, Dorian ran a finger round the back of Mahanon’s ear.  Mahanon leaned into the touch with a soft moan.  “No, you’ll get no such satisfaction from me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to do so.”  His appreciative smile was compelling, lassoing around Dorian’s heart, pulling him in willingly.  “I only made the suggestion last time because of what you mean to me.  I don’t want us to be a fling.”

There it was again, the stubborn conviction that had repelled him the last time they spoke.  Dorian instinctively wanted to brush it off as insincere from habit.  Pretty words meant only to keep a backdoor open for later. 

However, Mahanon was deadly serious then, just was he was now and Dorian began to hope that this was real.  “At the time, I wasn’t sure what you wanted.  Not certain that I was the person who could give it to you.”

Mahanon slowly wrapped his arms around the taller man, pressing his head into Dorian’s shoulder.  The mage pinned it in place while he buried his face in the crook where shoulder met neck.  Releasing a loving sigh, Mahanon spoke into Dorian’s robes.  “This is what I wanted.  You, Creators Dorian, I care for you so much.”

Holding the beautiful archer tight to body helped to steady Dorian’s nerves as he spoke.  “This is not easy for me.  I have no experience from which to draw upon.” 

Gracefully, Mahanon peeled away enough to find Dorian’s hands, twining their fingers together as he raised them to hold against his heart.  “This is where you belong.  Never doubt that.”

“Are all Dalish so poetic?”  Dorian couldn’t help the snarky comment from making light of the romantic mood. 

Mahanon pulled their heads together for a long, passionate kiss, inhaling Dorian’s musk.  “Only when properly inspired.”

“Well, let us hope that I continue to inspire you.”

Bucking playfully into Dorian’s hips, Mahanon’s hands began to glide all over the sexy mage, delighting at the hot-blooded hisses they elicited.  “I may have an idea floating around.”

Such a pretty smile, Dorian almost hated to smother it with his own mouth, a sentiment that vanished once he was awash with the taste of his lover.  _His lover._   Not a dalliance or some faceless name demanding secrecy.  He had wanted this so badly that holding it in his hands felt like a fantasy come true. 

Harder kisses, grasping hands, listening to heated breaths, anything to keep this real, to burn it into his memory, even the feeling of a slight breeze. 

Wait, he felt a breeze?

With a startled gasp, he looked down to find himself falling heavily from his breeches.  He hadn’t felt a single buckle come undone, much less all of them. 

His nose brushed Mahanon’s cheek.  “What is this?  How did you… _AHhhh!_ ”

Boneless putty, Dorian was a soft pile of robes, barely capable of supporting his own weight as Mahanon palmed his swelling erection, the only stiff thing on his whole body. 

The mumblings of a meeting in Josephine’s office trickled through the door and yet here he stood, cock out and panting like an obedient pup. _Vehendis, this is exciting!_  

When his lover spoke, their lips brushed together.  Dorian pursed his lips intermittently to try and capture more as the Inquisitor spoke.  “I have done nothing but think of you for the whole four weeks of our separation.  I will not stand for this any longer.”

A desperate moan poured from Dorian’s chest while the agile fingers of an archer deftly worked magically up and down his shaft.  He wanted to stop him, let him know that this was not necessary, that he could wait, but Dorian was too selfish and currently lucky to remember to keep his voice down.  It had been countless months since he felt the touch of another man on him.

Mahanon brought both hands to Dorian’s shoulders, waited for their eyes to meet, then slid ever so slowly down, lower and lower on the Tevinter’s body to rest on his knees.  Hot puffs of breath made Dorian’s lonely arousal jerk upward.  Avoiding the prominent erection, Mahanon dipped down to collect one of Dorian’s balls in his mouth, pressing, caressing delicately with his tongue while he sighed his own excitement. 

Dorian’s heart slammed backward, pelting his spine into the stonewall, a single, deep inhale shook through his body.  “Kaffas!”

Then a voice drifted in the back of his head. 

_-You like pressing it against his lips-_

As if spellbound, Dorian pumped himself, the lovely elven face an erotic backdrop.  Pressing his cock against Mahanon’s cheek was a signal that the elf understood causing him to release Dorian’s sac.  A welcoming grin allayed all of Dorian’s fears as it opened wide for him.  Beyond those lips it was warm, wet, and inviting.    Mahanon angled his face to watch Dorian’s expressions as he sucked leisurely, tugging at him with just the use of his mouth, his hands splayed against Dorian’s hip bones.  Those beautiful green eyes were captivating and suddenly the hottest thing Dorian could behold as the voice whispered again.

_-They are begging you know.  Begging for you to grab his hair so you can thrust deep into his throat.-_

It was all Dorian could think about, he needed to press and rub his cock against the back of that gorgeous mouth.  Both of his hands tentatively grabbed fists of hair, gripping tighter when Mahanon hummed with pleasure.  He tried to be gentle, but Mahanon still gagged causing Dorian to release him instantly.  The determined elf stayed put, letting his throat learn to adjust while moaning, no, purring.  He was fucking purring around the swollen flesh, which made Dorian’s core explode with jolts of carnal lust, fingers clinging urgently at the stone. 

“Oh, _oh, fucking yes!_ ”  Wheezing noisily, Dorian was struggling to breathe.  It was impossible and the glint in Mahanon’s expression said he knew it too.

The Inquisitor slid Dorian out of his mouth, finishing with a thick suck, letting a drip of precum stretch from tip to lip when he leaned back to let the liquid bow between them.  The elf’s fingers stroked the Altus’ velvety sac as a wanton hunger enveloped the entirety of Dorian’s burning flesh.  Mahanon continued to play with the spit, bobbing back and forth as he made more little strings each time he swirled his tongue over Dorain’s slit. 

A charming smirk sassed the pliable mage.  “Are you ready to apologize?”

“Andraste’s flaming ass!   Sorry!  Please!  Thank you!  Anything you want!”

This earned Dorian two more deep sucks, his cockshead slamming hard into the soft insides of the archer.  Just the feel of his nose pressed against him when was buried impossibly deep caused tremor to course through his legs. 

The Inquisitor kept the pumping rhythm when he spoke again, a distracting line of saliva seeped out of the corner of his mouth.  “I want to taste you.  Come for me, come in me.”

A few more intense, greedy plunges set Dorian’s body on fire, his fingers felt numb, overwhelmed, his abs clenched tightly.  He was almost certain he would crack a tooth from the way he fiercely clamped his mouth shut, keenly aware how close the Ambassador sat to the War Room. 

Mahanon was relentless, keeping a perfectly sensual pace, each slide along his length left Dorian feeling as though each one would end him.  “Tonight, I want to feel myself deep within you.  Your svelte body quivering beneath me as I fuck you deep into the sheets.”

_SNAP!_

Jutting into his lover’s mouth set Dorian’s nerves screaming in ecstasy.  Not only did it feel as if his mind had exploded along with his ejaculate, but literal flares of fire bust out concentrically around them, isolating them in a miniature ring of fire. 

The surge of warm passionate release dropped Dorian to his knees where he instantly scooped up Mahanon’s face, consuming his mouth, still hot and sticky from his cum while the tiny fires slowly petered out.  Their lips and tongues worked to mop up the last of the white shot. 

Dorian pleaded into their kiss, savoring the acceptance he found there.  “Please, Amatus.  I can’t wait.  Take me now.” 

“No.”  Mahanon eased up on their ardent kissing.  “I want to take my time with you tonight.”

Dorian was near tears when he whimpered at the response.  “Damn demon.  How dare you tease me thusly?  Who would have guessed that you had a mean streak within you.” 

Tantalizing, nimble fingers combed through Dorian’s hair.  For the first time in his life, Dorian didn’t care and actually wanted more, wanted to reciprocate, plucking apart the lovely braids in Mahanon’s hair, letting his fingers dip into the wild earthy fragrance that clung there. 

“I believe that your undue influence may have something to do with it.  You are forgiven by the way.”

“Rather magnanimous of you and quite fitting as you are The Herald of Andraste.”

“I try.”  Mahanon brushed off the comment, any lingering annoyance from their fight long forgotten while he watched Dorian tucking himself back into his clothes. 

Dorian stopped when he noticed the thoughtful look, eyes a million miles away.  “Something the matter?”

“I’ve never been with a human before, do…do all of you _taste_ like that?  Or is it because you are a mage?”

It took an excessive level of effort to keep from groaning out loud.  Dorian also noticed the different taste when they kissed.  She had been right.  The ridiculous regimen Praxis laid out for him days ago actually resulted in him tasting sweeter.  He wasn’t sure if he should thank her for the boon to his sex life or curse her for ruining his penchant for tea and chocolate. 

Praxis was not a subject he wished to get into post-coitus.  Instead, he wrapped a hand smoothly around Mahanon’s neck, drawing them together for wet, open kisses, their tongues lapping happily at the remaining nectar.  “It’s a guarded secret.  I need to maintain some of my mystery or I may see you run off without me.”

Mahanon tugged roughly on Dorian’s robes.  “Don’t you run off.  No more ridiculous arguments, you are mine and we will make this work.  End of the world notwithstanding.”

“Anything you desire, Amatus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next is a rather long chapter where Bull finally makes his move. Should be a quick update since I have most of Ch. 7 done.
> 
> I know some thought this chapter would be about Cullen, but he's not until later.


	7. Set on the Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted two chapters back to back. If you have this bookmarked you may want to check that you didn't miss the last chapter.

Bull returned with the Inquisitor after a long stint in the Emprise.  After climbing through the Frostback mountains half-starved after Haven, he was certain that the South couldn’t get any colder.  Apparently that was a poor assumption.  At least now he could have some fun walking through Skyhold to discover everything that had changed in the few weeks they had been gone.  Unlike Leliana, he didn’t have eyes and ears throughout the keep.  He didn’t need them.  Alone, his Ben-Hassrath training served well enough to keep tabs on the people close to the Inquisitor which was all that mattered when coupled with the Spymaster’s work. 

Having handed off his horse to one of Master Dennet’s men, Bull thought about what he would do first, until he saw the Chargers unloading materials for weapon crafting from a merchant’s wagon.  He gave Krem specific instructions to get _armor_ material.  Damn.  This was a delay he was not happy about.  They would have to put in a new order, wait for the delivery,  then hand it over to the blacksmiths and depending on the queue the soldiers already set ahead of them, it could be two months before they had the armor they needed.

“ **Cremisius!** ”  Bull thundered as he closed in on his boys.  They all froze, but not in the normal, ‘I’m-in-trouble’ way.  This was different, something else was going on.

Captain Praxis hurried over to them, another Captain trailing behind.  Bull was surprised when his breath caught briefly in his chest.  Streaks of blonde in her bright red hair made her twin braids look like ribbons of flames licking down the sides of her head.  He’d never seen anything like it. 

Approaching quickly, she rushed her words, intent on speaking before him.  “Ah, The Iron Bull, welcome back.  As you can see, we have your special order in.”

“Wait, please!  What about me?  I need help Praxis.  What the Commander is asking for is impossible!”  Bull now recognized Captain Perrin, quartermaster to the trainers and new recruits, the first stop of every new face in the Inquisition’s army.  Perrin’s nervousness showed in the way she couldn’t keep her fingers still.  Whatever this request was from Cullen, it had set her on edge.

Praxis spoke kind words with a sympathetic lilt.  “I don’t know what to tell you.  You should have talked to me sooner so we could work out a solution.  I can’t make something happen from thin air.”

The whole conversation Praxis was subtly searching the yard for someone.  _There_.  Commander Cullen was speaking with Rocky who then pointed over toward the supply wagon.  Now Bull was fully locked into seeing how this played out.

“Captains.”  Cullen greeted the two equally.  “Bull, I understand the Chargers have started using a new material for their weapons, quicker to craft, stronger than regular steel and can still take runes?”

That must have been what Rocky said to get him interested in coming over.  “Sure thing.  Krem was the one who came up with the idea to use it.”  He took the safe route and deferred to someone who’s in on the charade instead of fumbling through it alone. 

Krem talked up the weapons, speaking with an in-depth knowledge that Bull knew was rehearsed.  Krem wasn’t stupid when it came to weapons, but he sure as shit didn’t know _that_ much about them.  

“Hey Captain Praxis, didn’t you say this was about the third of the cost of the Army’s stuff?”  Krem played the innocent poorly by Bull’s standards, but no one else noticed, keeping the ruse going. 

“Captains is this true?  Why aren’t we taking advantage of this supplier?”  Cullen looked from one to the other, Perrin stalled but Praxis delved in for the save.

“That is what we were discussing when you showed up, Ser.  Captain Perrin was working out a deal to have the training officers take this material off the Chargers hands for a test run.  The Bull said that they can wait for the next shipment in ten days before they truly needed it.”

“Ten days?  Better and faster?  Good work Perrin, I’m glad you’re looking for new avenues to enhance the Army’s capabilities.  Captains, as you were.  Bull.  Chargers.”  A stiff nod and Cullen was off to continue casting his commanding shadow elsewhere.

“Oh, Maker, Praxis, thank you!  I’m sorry, I thought that…well, you’re not from here…I’m…Oh!  I owe you greatly for this.”  Perrin was rambling in her embarrassment. 

“Shit that was close.”  Praxis wiped her face, feigning apprehension.  “I’ll need the funds from your account to cover this so I can get the Charger’s order in ASAP.  The material’s value plus extra for inconveniencing the Chargers.” 

Bull enjoyed whenever Praxis slipped in idioms from her homeland.  Puzzling them out kept things interesting as well as hinted how deeply the military culture was ingrained in her mannerisms.  He wanted to laugh at the other Captain’s naivety when Praxis was able to negotiate up to fifteen royals extra out of Perrin.  

Praxis wrapped up the exchange.  “The Chargers will leave everything here for your men to pick up.  There are other supplies in the cart that need to be distributed and this evening I’ll speak with the smiths on rearranging their schedule for you.”

Sufficiently impressed and indebted, Perrin scurried off to execute the list of tasks Praxis had given.  Bull repeated the interaction in his head again.  Praxis had played Perrin the entire time but did so in a manner that asserted her aptitude for her position, gave Perrin undue credit in the eyes of the Commander in exchange for trust, and did all of this without coming off as a dick about it. 

“You didn’t tell me that you were going to completely fleece her like that.”  Krem called from inside the cart.

Praxis tossed him the bag with the ‘inconvenience’ fee.  “I wasn’t going to, but this morning she pissed me off when she suggested that I don’t know what I’m doing.”  With a non-apologetic shrug she turned to Bull.  “Thanks for not ruining it.  I don’t know what I would have done with all that shit if Perrin hadn’t bought it.  A full order for the whole of the ranks will be here in a few days, weather permitting.”

“Nice job, teach the dog to quit shitting on your work.”  Bull had dealt with Perrin in the past.  She didn’t deserve the leniency that Praxis had extended.

“Yes, exactly!”  Her smile was bright, cheerful, triumphant and begging to be claimed.  “And in appreciation for the Chargers help, I have the _actual_ armor order for you.”

“C’mere Chief, you’re gonna love this.”  Krem moved some items around in the cart that were clearly arranged to hide something at the bottom.

“I had the Chargers meet the cart about two leagues out from Skyhold so no one would see them rearranging the goods.  I didn’t want Perrin to catch on to my evil plan.”  Praxis eyes sparkled with pride at whatever it was she had procured for them.  She climbed up the side of the cart, bracing against the rails to watch Krem pull out their new purchase.

“Can you believe it Chief?  Royale sea silk for Dalish, some dragon webbing for Rocky, snoufleur skin for Skinner, stormheart and silverite for you and I, wyvern scales for Stitches and Grim.”  Krem was practically laughing each of the names, knowing how fortunate they were to have the rare and expensive masterwork materials. 

Bull snorted, his mind beginning to search for new avenues for revenue.  “Shit, Krem.  You know we don’t have the coin for this, much less what it’ll cost for the smiths to craft it.”

Praxis was already a step ahead of him.  “I’ll take what you were going to spend, add in the assistance that your men provided today, and then use part of the savings from the new shipments for the Army’s weapons to cover the difference.  Besides, some of this will be used for the Inquisitor and his inner circle as well.  I needed it to be a large order to get it here timely and for a reasonable price.”

Bull found himself getting turned on.  Seeing the way she worked, a meticulous sleight of hand here, some white lies over there, she portrayed the puppet master a little too well.  He wanted to know what other such episodes she had executed and their outcome.  A thrill of excitement surged through him.  What else would he discover?  He didn’t give two fucks about what her end goals were, he wanted to know how she did it, how she was using her position and knowhow as she skirted around the rules. 

_Oh, I bet Red has a whole squad of spies watching your hot ass._

He refocused on the situation at hand.  “You really think Josephine is going to let you play around with the accounts like that?”

Praxis reached behind Krem and withdrew a small crate marked ‘perishable’ from Antiva.  “I’ll handle Josephine.”  She leapt down, taking a moment to regain her balance before walking toward the castle, favoring her injured leg for a dozen paces before the discomfort disappeared enough that she was able to resume her stiff marching gait.

Turning over her shoulder, she flashed him a genuine smile.  “Oh, The Iron Bull.  If you’d like, you can help them finish unloading the supplies.  Krem knows where it all needs to go.”

That smile.  He didn’t know if he wanted to smack it off her face, devour it with his teeth, or put it to even better use. 

_Lucky Vint bastard._

***

The Inquisitor and Dorian arrived late to the afternoon lunch.  Bull scanned the table but, it seemed he was the only one who could smell the sex radiating from their clothes.  Bull hadn’t decided on his opinion of Dorian yet, but he made the Inquisitor happy which accounted for something only for as long as Mahanon stayed happy. 

Everyone sat at a large table, Mahanon in the center with Dorian at his side.  The advisors sat opposite the Herald with the rest of the inner circle filling in the wings of the table.  The Inquisitor’s easy going manner along with Varric’s animated re-telling of their hike through the Emprise made the favored tradition enjoyable by all. 

Nearing the meal’s end, work began to find the advisors, messengers deciding that ‘urgent’ business had waited long enough.  A glimpse of red caught Bull’s eye.  Raising his head from his meal, he grinned while watching Praxis enter the great hall, shoulder’s squared, head raised, self-possessed with an air of someone who owned the fortress.

He scoffed looking back at his meal, she nearly did according to the bits of rumors he’d picked up on.  Taking a few more bites, he pretended to be interested in what Blackwall and Solas were discussing while eavesdropping on Praxis’ conversation with Cullen.  During the entire exchange she was conscious of her posture, her answers short and to the point, never missing a respectable ‘Ser’ when courtesy dictated. 

“Yes, Ser.  I also have a list of the Captains who will take over my duties for the remainder of the week.  The Sappers have arrived early from Jadar and are eager to discuss modifications to the trebuchets.”

Leliana teased Cullen with a chuckle.  “Commander, I am quite surprised you would let anyone recalibrate your precious siege equipment.”

Dorian laughed boldly while the Inquisitor stifled one behind a polite hand at the possible innuendo.  Cullen singled out Dorian for his disapproving glare before answering the Spymaster.  At this point everyone was listening in. 

“Captain Praxis if you would.”  Cullen passed on the explanation, eager to show off the usefulness of his new captain. 

“I will be working with the Sappers to investigate the possibility of converting the trebuchets from a counter weight mechanism to tension based.  The main purpose is to improve accuracy, shorten reloading time and increase mobility by significantly cutting down on the weight of the weapon.”

Varric laughed good-naturedly.  “Are you seriously telling me Curly that you managed to recruit a Sapper that is going to tell these stuck up Orleasians how to do their business?”

Being the subject matter expert, Praxis once again answered for Cullen.  “Not without a price.  Ambassador Montilyet is in talks with Lady Salei to ensure the Inquisition is appropriately compensated for the contributions to this project.”

Leliana was digging for something and kept the topic going.  “So you are confident that this will work?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Then you have done this before I take it?”  Leliana was not entirely convinced.  They were talking about a significant asset that was costly to replace and was a critical element if the Inquisition needed to overrun a fortified position. 

“I have participated in and won competitions that revolved around trebuchet modifications.  It has been a few years and we will need to craft adequate substitutions for some of the parts, but I am optimistic that the combined effort will not be wasted or destructive.”

Bull laughed inwardly as Praxis called out Leliana’s line of questioning in front of everyone for what it was.  Josephine was probably the only other person who noticed, but it was still fun to watch the war of words. 

Varric actually did laugh.  “Haha!  A few years?  What happened?  They get tired of you winning each time?”

Praxis gave no hint at answering the question and instead tried to finish her business with Cullen.  Leliana noticed and was a glutton for punishment this afternoon.  “Why **_do_** you no longer participate in the competitions?”

It had been awhile since Bull had seen Praxis be uneasy, and this was the first time that he actually saw the hint of a blush.  She really didn’t want to answer this question. 

“The competitions are restricted to those aged fourteen to sixteen.  It’s intended for children.”

An uncomfortable silence sat down heavily at the table.  The design, construction and utilization of siege equipment was a highly skilled profession that many nobles touted as tokens of superiority.  To hear that in Praxis’ culture it was reduced to a game for children was sobering.  It was no wonder she felt embarrassed.  She might as well have called the whole of Thedas uneducated barbarians.

A commotion at the entrance to the great hall thankfully broke through the awkwardness.  Everyone looked, but it was Josephine who recognized the newcomers.  “Speaking of the Blight, here they come.”

A group of fashionable scholars made their way to the Inquisitor’s table, heedless of the fact that they were being intrusive.  Josephine stood to bow and great them properly in their native tongue, which always gave frilly Orlesians a hard-on.  **“…and this is the Captain that I mentioned in our communiques.** ”

“ **Captain Praxis, logistician for the Inquisition’s forces.** ”  She saluted smartly after greeting them in passible Orlesain.  Her words were correct but her accent was off, as though she learned from a foreigner. 

One of the Sappers was not impressed and seemed to be insulted at Praxis’ youth.  She was clearly the youngest of the whole group even though she was easily in her thirties.  “I thank you for your kind welcome, however it was not necessary to learn a _simple_ greeting just for our sake.”

Praxis caught the insult and responded as politely as Orlesain civility would allow her.  “ **I can assure you gentlemen that I am prepared to speak on all matters simple and complex as is necessary for us to achieve our desired goals.** ”

The older man sneered slightly, but couldn’t deny that he was vaguely impressed.  “ **We will met up with you after we have concluded our business with the lovely Ambassador.** ”

“ **As you please, Ser.  I will be here when you have need of me.** ”

A swift glance around the table revealed the others in various stages of surprise, except for Dorian and Cullen who of course knew her better than anyone else here. 

That settled it.  Bull was going to commit a lot more time toward this new Captain.  Leliana caught his eye, letting him know she wanted to speak privately, then she rose from the table, excusing herself.  Josephine guided the Sappers to her office and a few of the other companions used this opportunity to take their leave, to include Dorian.  Bull got a feeling from the Inquisitior and acted on it by leaving the table as well, catching up with Leliana by the main entrance.

To a casual observer, it would appear that they were talking to each other, however, she looked out over the training yard and Bull stood to keep an eye on Praxis.  With the table empty, the Inquisitor called her over to which she complied by kneeling at his side as most soldiers did in lieu of a salute.

“I don’t trust her.”

“One second Red.”  Leliana calmly waited as though she didn’t have a care in the world.  Bull continued to read lips.

_“I want to thank you for your advice this morning.  He came looking for me just as you said.  We managed to mend things between us.”_

_“I am glad to hear it.  Dorian’s a good man, he just gets in his own way sometimes.”_

The Inquisitor laughed easily but Praxis kept her rigid stance, rendering the Inquisitor the respect his position called for and had been earned by his deeds. 

_“If Dorian ever finds out that, **that** was all your idea, he’ll kill us both.  You should have seen him earlier, I thought he was going to explode.  He literally set the floor on fire!”_

Praxis couldn’t hold back a small laugh at that one, interrupted when Josephine called out for her from the doorway of the office.  Praxis turned to leave, but hesitated.  She held out a fist and indicated for Mahanon to mirror the gesture.  _“In celebration of your success.”_ She tapped their knuckles together.  _“Get some.”_

Praxis left the Inquisitor laughing cheerfully at the table, finishing the remainder of his meal.

Now that Praxis was in Josephine’s office, he gave the Spymaster his full attention.  “Sorry Red, wanted to be sure that Inquisitor wasn’t left alone with her.” 

“I want you to get close to her.  I do not think this will be difficult as she gets along well with your Chargers.”

“Why not get the information straight from Krem?”

“I suppose you have not spoken to your men yet.  Krem and Praxis have not been together for over a week now.  Krem is now courting Lace Harding.” 

He had spent all morning with his boys and even some time with Praxis.  There were none of the normal signals of a break up.  No longing looks, no harsh comments, nothing other than typical friendly banter. 

This made the nerves in his spine cinch with dread.  He knew she cared about Krem and if she were able to successfully play it off, to The Iron Fucking Bull of all people, then she could be dangerous. 

“What do you need from me?”  His tone implied that he was ready to be set to task.

“I want you to be her distraction, if possible.  When she was with Krem she only had work and Krem.  Now she is spending time with Dorian, the Commander and is now having intimate conversations with the Inquisitor.  I don’t like it.” 

Her eyes wondered the training yard once more.  “In a matter of weeks she has become the focal point of everything that comes and goes from here.  She has her own network of soldiers, merchants and officers who only function by her word.  She has no friends amongst the army as they all fear her influence.” 

Leliana turned her whole body on to him, her stern eyes digging into his.  “Cullen will absolutely not get rid of her, especially if she is successful with the redesigns.  I want you to keep her in check, find out more of her inner workings to be sure she is not going to pull the rug out from under us.”

A broad grin dominated Bull’s face.  He was being ordered to mix business with pleasure.  “Sure thing Red, no problem.”

***

Bull’s first stop would be getting as much information out of Krem that he could.  If he were going to go after her, he wanted to be prepared.  He found Krem running rounds in the training yard.  A nod of his head had his lieutenant rush up to his side.  “I understand that you don’t spend as much time with Praxis as you used to.”

“I spend enough.  What’s it to you?”  Krem hummed a laugh while using the back of his hand to wipe sand off his face.  He succeeded only in spreading it, making it worse.  “What?  You interested in her?”

“There are few who wouldn’t be.  But that’s not the point.  Don’t avoid the question, is something up?”

“No.  We’re fine.”  Krem thought to return to the ring, but noticed that Bull wasn’t going to leave it alone.  “We tried things out, it didn’t work, so things went back to the way they were.” 

“Just like that?  This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain scout returning from the field would it?”

“A bit.  When things started to get complicated, we agreed that I needed someone more…lady-like.  Praxis can be rough around the edges sometimes.”  Krem set down his practice sword.  “No.  She can be rough **all** the time.  She’s fun, but in a friendly way, not a partner way, well, not for me that is.”  Involuntarily, Krem wet his lips.  “Got to admit Chief, I will miss the sex.”

It wasn’t unusual that the uptight ones in public tended to be the most uninhibited in bed.  Bull’s mind often played out fantasies of the Commander losing control.  However, for Krem to remark on it, that piqued Bull’s interest.  “So she has skills outside of organizing an army of heretics and squandering good supplies on mercenaries?”

“It’s not just that, although that **is** nice.  It’s…she…hmmm.”  Krem unstrapped his shield as if the weight of it inhibited his ability to think.  “I don’t know how to describe it.  I’m sure you or she could, with your big brains overthinking every fucking thing you come across.  With her, it was…different.” 

He stared out over the groupings of soldiers bashing and slicing into each other.  “She listened to me, accepted me.  She made me feel…like a man should.”  He quickly swallowed hard then leaned back against a fence post.  “Dunno Chief.  Maybe you should fuck her and see for yourself.”

Bull growled low in his throat.  “That’s a little crass Krem.”   

“What?  She’s not like these Southerners, although she can act like them well enough, uptight an’ all.  Ask her, you may be surprised.”

“ _Hmpf_.”  Bull eyed Krem skeptically, but knew that he was right.  She wasn’t like anyone Bull had met before.  It was an exciting change. 

“She could say no.” That derailed Bull’s thoughts.  Krem noticed and naturally kept on.  “She can be forward, doesn’t mean she’s not particular.”

Bull leaned in, placing himself only inches from Krem’s face.  “What makes you think she’ll say no…to me?”

Krem hid his shit-eating grin with another wipe of his face.  His tone matched Bull’s lowered guarded one.  “I’m sure you’ve put her under that creepy Ben-Hassrath eye of yours, you tell me.” 

Growling with a snort, Bull pushed off from the fence putting all of his weight back on the soles of his feet. 

“When we had sex, she was rabid for it.  You’ve seen the way men around here look at her, shit even Chantry-up-the-ass-Commander has thrown appreciative eyes at her.  Maybe even more.  Why hasn’t she gone for the low hanging fruit now that nothing is holding her back?” 

Bull drummed his fingers thoughtfully on a fence rail.  “I’m guessing that _you_ would know why?”

Krem let out a low whistle.  “Fuck if I know Chief.  Why did she pick me?  If she says no to you, then that just means I’m feeling down right special.”  A grin of uncontrollable delight was back in full force now that Krem gave up any effort to hide it.

 _Smug asshole._  

So, Krem didn’t think he could cozy up to Praxis as ordered by Leliana. A woman who is close to a Tevinter mage and the Commander of the Inquisition’s army as well as budding friends with the Inquisitor.  Things just got better and better around this crazy ass place. 

Hot damn did he love a fucking challenge.

“So, Krem.  Where would I find her at the end of the day?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Riding the Bull and all the BDSM loving the goes with it.


	8. Riding the Bull (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all of those who’ve left kudos and/or comments as this has become my most popular fic to date. 
> 
> This has to be the most massive chapter that I have ever done. I couldn't cut it down any further as things are needed for later. I could have split it up, but since I promised this would be the Bull-smut chapter, here ya go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings: Bondage/Masochism/referenced drug abuse/drunken college nights

Bull left the training ring and took up his usual haunt in the tavern.  He’d done all he needed and the only thing left was to wait. 

Two hours before dusk, the Orlesian Sappers walked into the tavern and claimed a corner on the second floor for themselves.  They might be a valued asset to the nobles, but they weren’t fancy enough to rub elbows with them in the great hall.  This was Bull’s cue to take a stroll to the stables and chat up Blackwall. 

Along the way, he saw Krem go through the oft open door of Praxis’ office at the base of Cullen’s tower.  He decided to let that conversation simmer for a bit and spoke idly with Blackwall while the Warden carved wooden toys for the refugee children.  Blackwall was another mystery to be puzzled out, but since he kept mostly to himself and pulled his weight in a fight, he wasn’t a priority for Bull.  He saw Krem leave, but he stayed in the stables a while longer until the time ‘felt’ right.

The sun was setting and a light glowed from Praxis’ office.  Bull followed the beacon to find her working late but she had exchanged her uniform for more comfortable leisure clothing.  She kept a rather odd office.  The most noticeable aspect was behind her desk there was an apothecary cabinet that spanned wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling.  All of the drawers had symbols, labels, or numbers to identify the contents.  All of them were adorned with small runes.  It looked like some creepy shit you’d find in a Tevinter dungeon or tea parlor depending on how evil the Magister was and if they wanted to brag. 

“You been having fun with Dagna I take it?”

She followed his eye to look behind her.  “Oh, yes.  They are much better than using lock and key, easier.  Plus she’s a blast to talk to, you just have to set aside about two hours.  Sorry, tangent.  Did you need my help with anything?”

A drawer on ground level was labeled ‘exotics’ and Bull couldn’t help himself.  “I was wondering if you knew any suppliers that carried bananas?”

“Let me check.”  Her chipper voice indicated that the simple task was a welcome change from dealing with the Orlesians all day.  She turned to check the information in the ‘exotics’ drawer, deactivating the rune before opening it.  The combination of her leisure clothes and bending at the waist had her ass take on a perfect heart shape that Bull appreciated heartily.  His fingers twitched with the urge to slap those lovely cheeks. 

_Huh, so **that’s** why she’s spending time with Cullen.  _

She stood with her attention on a single sheet of paper.  “I have a guy that gets them out of…Northern Rivain.”

He shrugged a shoulder dismissively.  “I prefer the ones from Par Vallon.  They’re _longer_ , _thicker_ and less _squishy_ than the ones from Rivain.”

She quirked her head to the side, trying to determine how to take his comment.  He waited patiently, until he saw it, that little spark.  Deep in thought, her eyes twitched, her fingers tapped in her palm before she found her answer.  He wanted to hear her thought process, wanted to know how she snapped the pieces together.  Instead, she jumped straight to her conclusion.

“I appreciate the offer but I’m not interested.”

“What precisely doesn’t interest you?”

She tossed him an unamused glare while crossing her arms.  “Don’t try to guilt me with feigned offense.  I simply have no interest in any type of relationship right now.”

He waved his hand casually.  "I’m not the courting type.  Waste of time honestly.  You want to keep things light and casual, that’s fine with me."

She studied him intently, her eyes wondered all over his body, never fixing on any one particular spot for long.  This was an appreciated change, given how people were typically of a single mind when they agreed to have him bed them.  “So you would actually prefer a strictly physical relationship?”  

He snorted a laugh.  “Seriously?  Is that a trick question?”

She brushed off his comment with a nod.  “Alright.  I’ve been invited by Krem to have some drinks at the Tavern.  I’m going to go because if today is any indicator, this week is going to be about as fun as finding glass shards in a cake.”  She walked around the desk to stand in front of him.  She dipped her index fingers two knuckles deep into his breeches, sliding them back and forth, rubbing her thumbs over the leather of his belt as she looked up into his eye. 

“I would like for you to be there too.  I want to have the pleasure of watching me, knowing that I’m a sure thing.  But not tonight.  Tonight I will go to my room and think of you as I finger fuck an orgasm out of myself, my imagination abusing every thought of you.”

There was absolutely no way he could be turned on any harder than he was right now.  _She liked playing games?  Good._

“You sure you don’t need me?  I’m quite good at imagining things.”

There was no erotic fascination with him for being a different race, she didn’t know him well enough to be ‘infatuated’, what was she looking for?

Her fingers now wandered lightly up his abs to end with her hands over his chest.  “My question is: do you think you could exceed my expectations?”

_Praxis can be rough around the edges… **all**  the time._

The tease, the demands, the challenge, it all became clear.  He grabbed her upper arm, squeezing hard to judge her expression, fingers pinching into her flesh.  The way her muscles began to strain against his hold let him know that it was uncomfortable.  She never flinched.  He dropped his voice low. 

“I’m not Krem.  I’m not courting you.  I’m not merely passing time out of boredom.  You will be nothing but a whimpering mess laid out for me and I.  Will. Conquer.  You.”

She never acknowledged the pain he was inflicting.  He knew for certain her skin would bruise to at least a faint yellow color.  Instead, she gave a pleasant, defiant smile, similar to one that Josephine would offer dignitaries when she hid an ace up her sleeve during negotiations.  

"I look forward to it." She didn't pull away, waiting for him.  He slid his hand down her arm, digging the side of his thumbnail into the skin of her inner arm through the fabric of her sleeves.  A thick hum of pleasure spread her grin further to create dimples in her cheeks.  Their eyes stayed locked.  When his hand reached the end of her arm, he raised her hand to his mouth, biting into the pad of flesh at the base of her thumb.  Surprisingly, she twisted deftly out of his firm grip

 _That’s never happened._  

With a lilting giggle, she turned to leave the office.  His erection was throbbing in full force.  Bull let out a dark chuckle, _let the game begin._

***

Bull decided to arrive late, allowing Praxis time to feel comfortable before he began to factor into her night’s entertainment.  In the tavern, he found that most of his guys were in the back room with some of the Inquisitor’s people.  Mahanon was usually encouraged to use the back room to give him privacy to unwind and keep pesky nobles and reverent worshipers at bay.  Everyone sat in small groups with side tables.  The furniture arranged in a misshapen circle to encourage dialogue amongst everyone.    

Varric was finishing an overblown tale that ended with applause and cheers from the small crowd.  The dwarf bowed graciously and joined Praxis and Skinner.  Skinner would have been the last person he’d imagine making friends with Praxis, especially since Skinner tended to stick a knife in any ‘shem’ who got too close. 

Dorian lounged on a couch near the aforementioned group, the Inquisitor tucked into his shoulder.  He called out to Praxis, two fingers idly playing with a lock of Mahanon’s long hair.  “Tell me sweeting, how do you manage to find time to color your hair like that?”

“What?  The highlights?”  She tapped at one of her braids.  “Ha, they’re natural believe it or not.  My hair tends to do that when I spend time in the sun.  I’m actually the reason that additional wording was added to the ‘Dress and Personal Appearance’ regulation which specifically states that hair must be a natural color _for a human_ being.  My chain nearly shit themselves when they realized this was natural.”

Mahanon laughed melodically, tilting his head back to jab Dorian in the shoulder.  “An appearance regulation?  Sounds like some nonsense you would institute if you had an army.  ‘How to slaughter your enemies and look good doing it’!”

Praxis chuckled through a genuine smile.  Bull had to admit that at least she never masked her happiness.  That was one emotion she put freely on display. 

“You shouldn’t ridicule Dorian’s preening so quickly.  He reminds me of warriors from ancient history who are to this day considered the greatest badasses ever known.  The entire society was built around raising men to be the best fighters.  They were also accomplished scholars since the battle of wits was found to be of equal importance as actual warfare.  Before every battle, they would spend hours carefully grooming themselves.  The intent was to prepare for death - it calmed their nerves and at the same time, it was unnerving to the enemy.  Who wants to face a foe who has no fear of death?”

The description caught Varric’s attention, possibly already thinking of a new novel.  “Were these warriors successful in battle?”

“To a point.  Their most famous battle was about two thousand years ago, give or take.  For three days, three hundred Spartans held back an army of 2.5 million, or 500,000 depending on which scholar you wish to believe.  It is considered to be one of the greatest underdog stories of all time.”

Watching her excitement bubble up at sharing historical knowledge made Bull wonder how much more there was to the story.  He often noticed she would speak cautiously, choosing her words and limiting explanations to basic facts, but once she started, she was enthusiastic and her energy contagious.  He wanted to crack her open, plunging his fingers in to what she hid inside. 

Varric nudged her with a forearm as his hand was occupied with a tankard.  “I imagine that you are chalk full of stories.  I’d like to sit down sometime and compare notes.”

Skinner laughed uproariously.  “Oh she has stories alright!  Ha-ha!  Tell him about the time you had the city guardsmen come to your house.”

“You mean that time we painted the university statue?”

“No, no!  The other, where they woke you up in bed.”  Skinner was bursting with excitement, hitting Praxis in the upper arm for encouragement. 

“Skinner, are you certain we are speaking of the same woman?  I know for a fact that this lovely, creature had to severely discipline one of her own soldiers for crossing paths with the city guard during my short stay.  A bit hypocritical if you also suffer dalliances with the law.”  Dorian sat up straighter, eager to hear any tale that might involve embarrassment.  The mage goaded her, wanting to make her tell the story to defend her honor.

_Manipulative ass Vints._

Praxis scanned the room and having found that everyone’s attention was on her, determined she would not get out of recounting the experience.  When her eyes met Bull’s she paused.  A playful grin marked the forthcoming story as something meant for him.  He crossed his arms over his chest, letting her know that he was ready for whatever she was planning.

With a gleeful laugh, she yielded to the encouragement, and took up the place where Varric had stood earlier.  “Firstly, you need to understand that there is a saying, ‘There is a time and a place for everything, and it’s called college.’”  She pointed a finger at Dorian.  “I did stupid things when I was young and it didn’t matter, so to answer your accusation, no, I don’t feel a bit sorry for punishing a grown ass man for acting like an idiot.”

“As with any good embarrassing story, this one begins with my roommate and I going out and having so much to drink that I have no idea how we made it back to the apartment.  I crashed in my bed and at some point in the middle of the night I feel someone poking me in the ribs with a stick.  I open my eyes and there’s a cop…a guardsman standing next to the bed, fucking poking me with a stick.”

She was trying desperately to keep her composure, but already her audience was battling with bouts of laughter.   “That’s when I tried to get up and discovered that I couldn’t.  He had already put manacles on me and not in a dignified way either.”

To demonstrate, she crouched down on her knees, put her hands behind her back, then lowered her face to place her cheek flat on the ground.  The last action had her perfectly rounded ass sticking straight up in the air.  While everyone laughed hysterically at the indecent posture, she stared right at Bull, wetting her lips, then chewing invitingly on the lower one.  Instantly Bull turned to Skinner who gave him a single wink.  Fucking elf was in on it.  Praxis had wanted to tell _this_ story, to put _this_ image of her being bound in his head.

As the laughter eventually died down, she stood to finish the tale which actually began when she and her roommate returned home trashed.  They proceeded to toss some of their furniture out of a second story window because ‘it was talking shit’.  The neighbors called the guardsmen who found the roommate asleep in the living room.  When they woke him up to ask about the new lawn furniture, he attacked them with food, eventually stripping naked and covering himself in a liquid dressing, making it impossible for him to be tackled as he ran around the apartment.  When they decided to wake Praxis, hoping she could calm him down, they took the precaution of shackling her beforehand in the event she had similar plans.   

Bull leaned against the wall, still separate from everyone else and watched as Praxis delivered her story.  Eye contact with each person in the room, tall stance, limited and purposeful hand movements, no verbal pauses, all signs of experience with public speaking.  With her education and dedication to work, he could almost imagine her as a Tamassran.  His trousers were once again becoming uncomfortably restrictive.  He chuckled quietly to himself at how Tama might react to such a thought before she swiftly re-educated his ass.

The next few hours involved heavy drinking by everyone except Praxis, the Inquisitor, and surprisingly, even Dorian was a little light handed with his cups. 

_Aw, the two lovebirds have plans.  Dirty, ‘elf owning a Magister’ plans.   Oh, shit yea, Dorian would totally be bottom._

Praxis was the first to call it a night, wishing all a good evening.  When she got to the Inquisitor she leaned in to ask a question, her face masked from Bull, but he was able to catch Mahanon’s answer: _Sure, I’ll come by first thing in the morning_. 

Averting his eye, he returned to a conversation with Lace, Krem and Stitches.   Krem nudged Bull, a tease in his voice.  “Looks like she’s getting away, Chief.”

“And that’s why you would make a terrible spy.  Never underestimate subtly.”

Krem pointed to the tavern door with his tankard.  “Well she just _overtly_ walked out the door.  Without you.”

Bull stood slowly, without a hint of urgency.  “Don’t worry, the ol’ Iron Bull’s got this.  She’s going to go by her office to grab some work before heading back to her quarters.  I’ll catch her along the way and we’ll have another _talk_ as it were.”

A few catcalls from some of the guys were thrown at him as he left the tavern.  Once outside, Bull strolled a short distance before Praxis’ office door was within his line of sight.  He followed the weak glow that came from the familiar open door. 

His muscles tensed as he paused in the doorway to find that no one was inside. 

It was a trap and somewhere behind him, he was being watched.

The attack was sudden and completely unexpected as he felt the faint sting of a slap to his ass.  Instinctively he whipped around to his attacker, pinning her to the outer wall of the tower.  Praxis smiled gleefully even though he’d knocked the wind out her and she strained to gulp in a new breath. 

Anger and admiration slammed in his chest as he growled against her neck.  “Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”  Grabbing her by the shoulders, he raised her off the ground to look eyes to eye.  “I could have killed you.”

Craning her neck, Bull took the invitation to lick and nip along the offered flesh.  She let a purr rumble in her throat as she spoke.  “Seriously injure but not kill.  You would never blindly murder and risk the possibility that your attacker had any useful information you could extract.”

“Murder?  Is it still called that if the asshole deserves it?”

“Perhaps not.”  Taking a deep breath, her breasts pressed lusciously against his bare chest.  “What sort of punishment do I deserve for my stupidity?”

His body was massive compared to hers allowing little room for movement and yet, she still managed to bend and curl her legs up and around his waist.  He pressed forward hard, punching a grunt out of her that she managed to turn into a pleased moan toward the end.

“You need to be fucked so well that you can’t remember your own name.” 

“That’s a lofty goal for a man who’s so impatient he couldn’t wait ten minutes to hunt me down.  How does it feel to be thought of as predictable?”

This time Bull huffed an enthusiastic rumble from his chest as he crudely thrust his rock hard erection right against her cunt, digging her back against the stone.  She sucked in a shuddering breath, raising her face upwards. 

“I don’t know, why don’t _you_ tell me how it _feels._ ” 

She slowly lowered her head back down to be level with his, pupils dilated, lips parted.  It was here that he saw the rabid animal that Krem had mentioned.  Raising one hand to his cheek, she dove in for a forceful kiss, her tongue stabbing into his mouth, drinking in his taste, hot moans fueled by feral lust. 

She thrust her hips against him, her mouth moving to kiss along his jaw, then stopped at his ear.  “I want you to wreck me.” 

She wanted to devour him right there and for a fraction of a moment, he almost let her.

“Praxis?”  Cullen’s voice was about as welcome as being tossed in freezing water.  Bull eased her back to the ground and stepped back a respectable distance. 

“You alright?”  Bull didn’t miss the hint of aggression nor the way Cullen’s grip on his sword changed.  Defensive, ready.    

“Everything’s fine, Commander.”  She managed a sing-song response in complete contrast the to the alluring temptress that had clung to him earlier.  “I’ll see you tomorrow The Iron Bull.  Goodnight.”

Praxis took the stairs two at a time up to Cullen’s office.  Cullen on the other hand, remained on the lower landing, keeping his glare on Bull, gauging whether to comment on what he had witnessed. 

“You got something to say boss-man?”

“No.  Praxis can handle her own affairs.”  He turned and after a few steps up, called out over his shoulder.  “However, should she need me, I will not hesitate to be there for her.”

“Understood.”  He waved at Cullen who didn’t look to see the gesture. 

Walking back to the Tavern he wondered if she would still be able to prance up the stairs like that once he was done with her.   

***

“They’re perfect.”  Praxis admired her twin Dutch braids with gusto in the small mirror.  “Absolutely wonderful Your Worship.  Thank you so much.” 

The Inquisitor had taken great pains to separate the two colors of her hair to create the beautiful cascade of twin braids.  When someone else did it, the weave turned out tighter and she had a feeling she’d need the extra hold. 

“I believe Mahanon is reasonably called for when speaking to someone who knows your sex life intimately.”

Chuckling, she indulged his request.  “Thank you Mahanon.  I do greatly appreciate this.”

The Dalish elf shrugged it off.  “Back in the clan it was common practice to help others with their hair.  It’s refreshing to have a reminder of home, to do something that’s normal for a change.”

Placing the mirror on her desk, she stared blankly at her desk.  “Do you miss being with your clan?”

“Yes.  I miss them often.”  After a few moments, Mahanon massaged his hand up and down Praxis’ back, laying his head against the side of hers.  “I have no regrets about the ones I have left behind, as I would not sacrifice the new relationships that I have built here.” 

Praxis leaned back into his touch.  “Thank you.”  A fun thought flew into her head.  “Speaking of which, how’s Dorian this morning?”

The Inquisitor gave her a sly grin, which was beautifully framed by his vallaslin.  “Oh, he’s still in bed.”

This time he easily exchanged a fist bump with her, she in praise and he with pride.  After Mahanon left, Praxis resumed her normal regimen.  She didn’t bother looking to see if The Iron Bull was watching her. She knew he was.  Most of the day was spent with the impossible Orlesian Sappers.  She had been right to schedule additional days for them to work through the retrofit of the trebuchets.   The group was quite adverse to her ideas and fought with her every step of the way.  It was nothing that she hadn’t seen before, everyone always resisted change, even when they proclaimed they were in favor of it. 

Thankfully, they were extremely stringent on the number of hours they were willing to dedicate to a day’s work.  Praxis retreated to her office to finish up a few loose ends and reports from her fill-ins.  It was only when she was confident that absolutely everything was in order, every minute of her agenda accounted for, that she changed out of her Inquisition uniform before locking up to go to the tavern. 

The wooden building was bustling with fresh activity since the arrival of a group of Chevaliers from some random ass noble area of who-the-fuck-cares Orlais.  They were all pompous assholes who thought that they were the greatest thing walking since they had won such-n-such tourney.  Not a one of the bastards had ever seen real combat.  Praxis held little respect for such worthless shits.  Not wanting to be caught unaware, she had asked Josephine to learn some of the more ‘colorful’ terminology used in Orlais.  The basics were close enough to French that she was passably fluent, but obscene words and phrases required assistance and wasn’t going to stand for any of them talking shit.  

Ignoring the idiocy that tried to waft to her ears, she pushed past the pretentious fools and their pointless conversations to seek out The Iron Bull.  At first she found it a fun challenge to call him by his preferred moniker.  Now, it was the only way she thought of him.  He was the only man who read her like a book and wasn’t repulsed.  She’d caught him off-guard a few times, but she knew that wouldn’t last.  She didn’t care.  The only thing that was prominently in the forefront of her mind at the moment was what he said the other night.

  1. _Will. Conquer.  You._  



Bull lounged haphazardly in an oversized chair in a corner of the Tavern.  Praxis watched him take one final long draw from his tankard as she leaned against a wooden post.  Her eyes watched his silver one dart upwards, which compelled her to mount the tavern stairs.  She didn’t see him follow but her feet felt his steps behind her, the stairs giving under his bulk. 

She knew where his room was, but she still paused outside, waiting in the dark hall for an invitation.  Bull leaned sideways on the door, one arm level with his head, the other gestured toward the exit.  “Last chance.”

“I thought you were a ‘people person’.  Losing your touch?”

“Ha-ha!  You’re going to regret that back-talk later!  Why don’t you take a look inside and see if I have ‘lost my touch’.”  Pushing the door open with his raised hand, she slipped eagerly underneath into The Iron Bull’s personal chambers.

The true question that burned in her mind was if would do what she really wanted.  Krem was a dear, but he had his limits.  The room itself was a reasonable size.  The furniture was all basic pieces commonly found around the castle, although perhaps a bit more ‘loved’ than most.  Overall the room had an organized chaos feel.  It wasn’t messy, but one couldn’t truly call it tidy either.

Everything was bathed in an orange warmth from the small clusters of candles arranged throughout the room, creating spotlights over the bed, a chair, a section of wall, the table – all possible venues for ravishment.  The door clicked shut behind her but her focus stayed fixated on the table where different leather tools were spread out – a paddle, a slapper, a crop, a rod and a flogger. 

Feeling Bull’s eye on her, she turned her head over her shoulder.  “You really are good at reading people.”

“I will admit that you are a bit tougher to read than most people.”  He strode up to her, at an easy arrogant pace.  “So, I want to be clear from the start.  What do you want?”

“I want to play, hard and rough.”  She pushed the slapper and paddle off to the side with disinterest, clearly keeping the others.    

“Cullen knows not to expect you tonight?”

“I think everyone knows to not look for me tonight.  Your guys aren’t exactly the best at being tight-lipped if they think it’ll be amusing at someone else’s expense.”

A knowing smile was all she got out of him.  In silence, he circled her like a hawk before choosing a strategy and executing.  Praxis remained still.  Bull stood behind her, reaching around to the front of her shirt, and with practiced fingers, slowly untied the tiny knots.  Once loose, he pulled the garment over her head, exposing the breastband, which he shucked off her just as easily.  Resting his hands on her shoulders, he placed light kisses in a ring around the back of her neck.  The prickle of his beard had her skin covered with goose bumps.

The voice he used now was lower, tender and decidedly seductive to the point she had to breathe deeper since anticipation was squeezing her lungs unforgivingly. 

“So, you’re familiar with how this works?”  A nod.  “All you have to say is ‘katoh’, and I stop.  No hard feelings.”

“Katoh.”

“And if you can’t speak, tap me two times.”

“Two taps.”

Sliding his hands down her back, then around her soft sides, he found the front of her trousers and worked them loose.  He tugged them down, taking her underwear with them.  She stepped out of the puddle of fabric on the floor. 

“Turn.”

One deep breath. 

Once she faced him, he knelt at her feet.  He reached down and removed one boot and then the other.  With her left foot, he held her metal appendage a bit longer, looking her in the eye, then set it back down.  The slow, adoring touches were more thrilling than she could have imagined.  His fingers tapped out a pattern as they ghosted up her legs, then holding the sides of her smooth stomach, he nipped at her hip.  His teeth mildly dug into her flesh, the pressure between the bone of her hip and the bone of his teeth made her want to squirm in delight.

“These are a nice touch.”  Bull ran his fingers over the four silver microdermals, two dotting the top of each hip.  He gave one an exploratory lick and she shivered, but his hum melted her.  “Hmmm, good to know.”

His attention relocated to her right shoulder.  With a hand over top and the other underneath, he slowly slid them down over her tattoo, as if covering her tattoo with a balm that would seep through her skin and into her soul.  Reaching her fingertips, he held on to them lightly to turn her hand, exposing the palm of her hand.  A brush of his lips at her wrist, then a bite turned kiss on the thin skin. 

There was nothing overly exotic about this ritual.  It wouldn’t even be considered intimate if she weren’t naked, but that wasn’t the point.  The intimacy came from finding common ground, knowing that they both suffered through horrific shit in their past and now, everything he did was to make her feel comfortable, to let her know she could trust him.

This was about more than just getting off.  He was giving her an escape.  Something she once found in painkillers, which tried to rob her of her family, then searched for with recreational drugs that threatened her job.  He knew none of that history, and yet, looking in his eye, she knew he understood her struggle.    

By now, he was admiring the other set of four microdermals that flanked her sternum, tucked under her collarbone.  She placed both hands on his shoulders to get his attention.  “Please, take me away from here.” 

Eagerly and using only one arm, he snatched her up, legs dangled limply from his grip.  He deposited her by the wall, between two cords of rope that hung from anchors in the stone.  Facing the wall, she offered her hands by placing them near the ropes. 

He tied her in place with her arms spread into a V over her head.  Now locked into position, the feeling of vulnerable nakedness diminished. The restraints made her feel as though being here and naked, was where she belonged.

“You know to stay high right?”

A low laugh.  “I may have lost count of how many guys I’ve killed, but I never forget where vital organs are.”

He tugged on the rope, ensuring it was secure, yet still had some give.  Running his hands over her back as if mapping out his plan of attack, he spoke low in her ear.  “Take a deep breath.”

A single measured inhale, she did as she was told. 

He walked away.  “Now, exhale, slowly.”

The first strike.  Sharp and oddly cold, as if falling on frozen asphalt and skidding.  It hurt like a bitch but she knew it would only get better.  She winced at first, but soon her body warmed up to the assault.  Bull set a steady, even pace, expertly striking the same shoulder blade over and over.  The use of the flogger heated the once cold leather and set a fire to her skin that radiated outward from the brutal contact.

Knowing Bull, he watched her body, her face, her breathing.  Each strike was a direct reaction to how she enjoyed the last one.  The pattern of increasing intensity was obvious as she adjusted and craved more.  The sound of leather striking her skin made her impossibly wet. It echoed in the room making everything seem more intimate, as if everything would stay restrained within this room and everything else would be locked outside.    

She stole a peek over her shoulder to watch him work.  The horns, his size, even the shape of the flogger in hand gave him the silhouette of a forgotten Egyptian god as he raised his arm regally over his head.  He let his arm fall down in a practiced arc, the momentum placing the perfect amount of force behind it.  Beating her expended hardly any energy on his part, leaving him capable of doing this all night if her body could take it.

She screamed anew when he landed the first blow to her other shoulder, beginning the process all over again.  He was masterfully painting her back red.  She eased into the pain, her body flooding her system with endorphins, trying to cope with the assault.  The pain was still there but it was warm, tantalizing and most of all, it wiped her mind clean. 

Thinking stopped.  Memories stopped.   

Pinching her eyes shut, she pressed her cheek harder against the stone, enjoying the jagged texture.  Lightheaded and dizzy, she felt liberated from the world, her body no longer a participant in the race of life.  When he struck her, she felt it vibrate within her mind, violently removing her stress, masking the haunting memories both real and imagined.  Everything faded to black, her mind almost completely shut down.  Unwinding into the hurt, she was able to quit processing any thought other than enduring the regimen he inflicted on her.  She hadn’t felt this comfortable, this relaxed in a _long_ time.

When he tenderly ran the back of his finger along her jaw, she opened her eyes, only now realizing he had stopped.  “You still holding up alright?  I think I lost you for a minute.”

Pulling and twisting uncomfortably away from the wall, she captured his mouth with hers, heat rising within her chest, her passion poured into him as he reciprocated just as fiercely.  “I want more please.”

Smiling with provocative arrogance, he pushed her back to the wall.  “We need to work on your discipline.”

Returning to her original position, shaking out her legs, she rolled her shoulders a bit.  “Then get to it.”

“ ** _Aigh!_** ”  He slapped her hard with an open hand over the swollen patch he’d formed on her back. 

When she didn’t offer a verbal retort, Bull walked away.  “Good girl.”

Her heart warmed at the words, relishing the praise.  A crisp sound followed by slicing sting introduced the new toy.  It had to be the rod.  His strokes were swifter, the impact spanning the full width of her back.  The thin leather forced her already sensitive skin to go through another bout of agony, but this time in concentrated form.  She zoned in on the smacking sound, which created the image of Bull ramming into her, the slap of skin on skin, she prayed it would sound just as violent.

Another moan was ripped from her when he moved his attention to her ass.  She whimpered under the torture.  She was beginning to wonder with each hit, if it would be the last, Bull finally taking her from behind.  The anticipation of the blows or a sudden fuck had her chest heaving with excitement, wondering how far he would take it.

In a short time, she knew that walking tomorrow would be a little uncomfortable.

More time passed. 

She won’t be able to sit tomorrow.  At all.

The pattern was broken when the rod slid between her legs, toying with her wet heat.  She shuddered and latched onto the rope pinning her to the wall, needing to inflict her frustration on something. 

“I’m about to break skin, do you want that?”  Honestly that had been her goal, to be utterly destroyed, but she was too horny, especially hearing his voice drip seductively into her ear.  She’d become too desperate to wait.

“No, I want to offer myself for your pleasure, Sir.”

“Ah, so, you do know your place.”  He cradled her chin, bringing their faces near, but his decidedly higher than hers.   “And yet, you keep breaking the rules.”

Her hands flicked, twisted and jerked, freeing herself to melt to her knees in front of him.  She rubbed at one of her writs as she criticized.  “I’m sure I’ll get better at this just as you will.”

“You’re getting real fucking sassy.”

“At least one of us is doing some fucking.”  He grabbed her throat, applying just enough pressure that she rose to her feet and allowed him to guide her to the bed.  Walking across the room aggravated her back.  It was invigorating to have the irritation settling into her abused skin.    

“Stay.”  He punctuated the command with a finger to the chest.

Obediently motionless, listening to him move things behind her, then he snapped out a new blanket, a small gust drifting around her as it settled on the bed.

Bull came back to stand in front of her, drinking in the sight before enclosing her in his arms, his hands pulling up on her ass so she would wrap her legs around his waist.  She felt helpless, small and weak in his embrace.  When his shins banged at the bed’s edge, he lowered her smoothly, gracefully down onto a field of the softest fur she’d ever felt in her life. 

“ _Oh_ \- holy shit, yes!”  Against her inflamed skin, it was soothing even though it made some of the welts feel more pronounced.  The drastic change was luxurious and intoxicating.

Bull hovered over her, bracing his body with his arms.  She pulled on his harness, leaning upward to have her lips meet his.  She was thankful he wasn’t being too serious and allowing her some freedom in their foreplay.  He broke the contact by rolling his spine up, trailing one hand over her ribs, down her leg to finally rest on the straps that held her prosthetic in place.  It was easily removed, along with the padded sleeve-sock that cushioned what little remained of her lower leg.  Once all of the skin was exposed he massaged the area, similar to how one would a foot after a long day.

She wanted to pull away.  Even after all these years, she couldn’t get over the stigma of her leg appearing gruesome.  Bull easily picked up on her tension, cocking his head to one side.  He laid a few soft kiss up her short shin before he removed his patch.  The cinched skin wrapped over his skull tightly, a dent showing that a chunk of his eye socket had been chipped away as well.  It was honestly hideous in appearance but the history behind it left her breathless.  Her heart lurched, blood raced, and in that moment.  She felt her body unfold for him, implicit trust gave him carte blanche over her body. 

Green silk materialized in his hands.  He tied knots securely around her knees and tightened the fabric to unseen anchors which left her spread open before him. There was a victorious husk in his voice.  “Yeah, that’s more like it.” 

Now that her mobility was impaired, Bull stripped like a man who hadn’t a care in the world.  The heavy clatter of his harness a reminder that he indeed was a warrior.  Exquisite brawn that had men and women alike drooling over him, wanting to feel his raw power within them.   

When he removed his pants, she couldn’t stop a gasp of wonderment.  There was a dark grin and a please hum before Bull crawled over her, his impressive erection brushing along her sensitive clit and pressing against her stomach, precum seeping out on her belly.  She tried to buck up but the restraints held her back.

“Do you want something?” 

Her voice was shaky, she could almost believe that someone else had spoken.  “Please, Sir, may I have you in me?” 

“I think you need a lesson in discipline instead.”

Panic seized within her, she wanted to shout a protest but knew that would only make it worse.  With ragged breaths, she managed to nod.  “Yes, Sir.” 

Downing a vial from the bedside table, a devilish grin edged slowly up one side.  “You will keep your hands to yourself.”

Bull dipped his head, biting her nipple hard to the point she worried he’d draw blood, but then he licked with the full flat of his tongue.  At first, the wet heat from his mouth alleviated the bite, but soon there was a sharp, cool sting to it.  Letting out a gruff exhale as he moved to the other breast, she could smell the peppermint.  Her eyes rolled in her head, swimming at the odd mix that couldn’t decide whether to be pleasurable or painful.  Puffing her breasts up to meet his face, she ached for more. 

He rose up on his knees to free his hands to manipulate, massage and tease her breasts.  He continued to smear his tongue over those sensitive pebbles, having fun pressing her back down when she arched her back.  She writhed at his every touch, her hands wildly grasped at the covering, but the fur was too soft to get a proper hold.  She finally had to resort to holding her face, tamping down the noises that fled from her body.

She only dared to look up at him when his hands glided down to land on her bent thighs.  His movements never paused, always ready to attack his next goal.  He had a plan, fully in control and she was enjoying every fucking second.

With a sharp hiss, she watched as he began to lay delectable licks on the outside, inside, and then all over her already slick heat.  The peppermint oil was excruciatingly painful when he darted his tongue inside, but she still wanted more, mournful that the muscle wasn’t longer or thicker.  Trembling, her legs fought against the sashes while he increased her hunger for a much larger meal.

“Please, I have done as you asked.  May I please have you in me?”

“Really?  So soon?”  A single chuckle mocked her question.  “I don’t think so.”

Backing away from the bed, a breeze was able to skim over her oil inflamed pussy, sending delightful chills straight to her bones.  Returning, he held a clay jar with a stick poking out of the opening.  “I’m really enjoying my new honeypot.”

It was impossible for her to hold back the delightful laugh that rushed from her.  It was only with the greatest effort that she kept herself from falling prey to hysterics and end up laughing nonstop. 

“This is what I like about you.  You can hide your anger, frustration, even your mourning for home, but it’s impossible for you to hide your happiness.”  The way he looked down at her, she would gladly laugh to death to have him share in her joy as he did now.

She turned her attention back to his hands.  The stick was indeed in a honey pot, which he used to drizzle the warm liquid in even, thin ropes across her sensitive core.  She reveled at how he played with hot and cold, pain and comfort.  He was absolutely brilliant. 

This time he dove in with a bruising head butt.  Teeth, tongue, lips, no holds barred this time.  It was savage, ruthless and put in her mind intense images of how he would fuck her in a similar fashion.  She wanted to move up the timeline by grabbing him by the goddamn horns and riding that smug-ass face until she creamed in his mouth. 

This instantly became a mental note for next time. 

After meticulously cleaning up the mess he made, most likely taking more time than necessary, he shoved two thick pillows under her rump raised her to the perfect height of his waist.  The palm of his hand molded well over her clit.  Slow, tiny circles sent her head reeling backward.  He edged closer, adjusting his position, before taking his massive cock in hand with long, languid strokes that made her mouth water. 

“I’m still not going to give you what you want.”

At this point, it didn’t matter.  She was so worked up she would take anything he offered.  Gradually, he fed her his throbbing shaft, inch by tiny inch he made his way, sinking deep within her.  She could feel herself wrapping tightly around him. Her fingers once again dug at her face when he bottomed out and stayed there.  It was wonderful, frustrating and never ending as he fucked her slowly, she thought she would die.

In….and…out…in…

It wasn’t long before she broke down and begged, tears welling in her eyes.  “Please, I can’t take this anymore, _please!_ ”

“Then let go.”

The knots at her knees had been tied with a quick release, needing only on tug at the right spot to have it dissolve completely.  Bull set her free which sent her hands shooting to his shoulders, her fingernails bit viciously into the skin.  She laughed when he took one deep inhalation, then a faint moan as he enjoyed the sting.  Straddling him she braced herself on the thick pads of muscle on his chest.  He sat, leaning against the headboard and let her ride him at her own pace. 

There was no time to savor the fact that she was taking the most amazing cock known to man.  He’d built her up so far that feverish rocking and grinding quickly had her crying out with shameless abandon as the orgasm ripped through her like a fist punching through a wall.  She found herself hoping the Tavern below could hear her howls. 

Instead of letting her bask in the magnificent afterglow, he shoved her off and hastily positioned her just as she was when she told the story about the guardsmen. 

Filling her from behind, he pushed her head down.  “Stay.” 

He picked up her arms, firmly gripping each at the forearm and pulled on them as he fucked her hard.  She smiled gleefully into the soft fur as each time he slammed home, the reminder of her orgasm washed through her.  Soon the feeling wasn’t just a memory, it was building again. 

She gasped in exhilaration.  Her hands clawed at his wrists.  “Harder!”  Lunging forward while pulling on him with a bit too much enthusiasm had her right shoulder popped out of joint.  Bull dropped it instantly but she kept impaling herself on his thick shaft, both their juices sluicing down her legs.  “Grab my neck, don’t stop!”

Tilting her injured shoulder against the fur to arc her neck enough for him to grab, she savored the feel of his thumb pressing against her jugular.  For a moment, she felt both of their rapid heartbeats, struggling to keep pace with their raging lust.  The wet slapping of skin, the fur sticking to her sweaty skin made her feel marvelously filthy.  She freed her good arm to reach under her and fondle his heavy sac. 

There was a subtle change to his pace, she tugged lightly at his velvety skin.  “If you don’t come right now, I will smack the shit out of your balls.”

Straightening up, he began slapping her ass.  “That’s not how this works!” 

She laughed when he couldn’t mask his smile from his reprimand.

 **"Damn! DAMN!"** His voice rang out after a few more thrusts and she felt the intense pressure of Bull filling her with his hot shot, his pace remained unaltered, forcefully plowing into her.  This pushed her over the edge and she enjoyed another, albeit more subdued, orgasm which zapped the last of her strength.  She collapsed fully on the fur that had turned prickly from their body fluids.

She had no clue what Bull was doing or even where he was.  His voice echoed a bit off the walls, but he was somewhere nearby.  “You want me to fix that shoulder?”

“I don’t want to move.  This is perfect.”

The bed shifted as he sat next to her on the uninjured side.  “What is that smell?”

“Elfroot.”

He ran a cool damp cloth over her back, down her spine then over the mounds of her ass.  He continued following that pattern, letting the balm seep into her skin. She was wrong, _this_ was perfect.  She drifted in and out of sleep, barely aware of anything that Bull did.  At some point she woke with her head in his lap as he sat resting against the headboard. 

“There you are.  Ready to fix that shoulder?”

Rubbing her face into his thigh, she wanted to stay put but knew that would be idiotic.  “Sure.”

Bull got out of bed and she remained face down to let Bull go to work.  In less than a minute, it was back in joint.  “Mind helping me get dressed?”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I need to get this bandaged before work and it’d be stupid if I skipped breakfast, again.”

Bull had her clothes in hand as he helped her to sit up.  “You tend to make a lot of stupid decisions.”

She hooked her good arm around his neck, pulling him in for a searing kiss, amazingly it started to stir the heat in her belly once more.  Breaking the kiss, Bull smirked at her as if he could see it growing within her.  

“This wasn’t, it was perfectly wonderful, but it doesn’t always have to be so elaborate.”

“Oh, fuck no!  Shit.  I was just trying to lure you in.  Now that you’ve feasted on the Bull, nothing will taste the same again.  Besides, next time you need to show me how you get out of the ties, that shit is annoying.”

With her direction, he got her prosthetic on and finished with the last of the clothes.  She saw a thought dart across his eye.  “What is it?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what happened on the fourth day?  You never finished the story of your Spartans.  Did they win?”

“No, they were betrayed by one of their own.”  She stood, wiggling her leg to test the fit of her foot.  “Every one of them was slaughtered, including the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all Bull scenes will be as involved, I can't edit a beast like this again. I hope you don't mind looking forward to a few fast romps now and again.
> 
> Next up: The Cullen chapter


	9. A Templar's Champion (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has made many mistakes in his past, but one in particular has resurfaced, cutting open an old wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [Pixievhenan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pixievhenan/pseuds/pixievhenan)  
> for helping me flesh this chapter out :D

The day after Praxis spent the night with Dorian, Cullen watched her throughout the day.  Any time he had a spare moment, she didn’t.  He eventually resigned himself to waiting until the end of the day, passing a messenger on the way into her office. 

“Good evening Captain.”

She stood her render her greeting.  “Good evening Commander.” 

The stiffness in her movements were a subtle tell that she still suffered from a hangover.  “Long night last evening?”

She held her stance, hands clasped behind her back in a habit formed in her homeland.  “Nothing that will hinder my work, Ser.”

“You left Dorian’s quarters rather early this morning, looking a bit worse for wear.  Is there something we need to discuss?” 

As often as she was able to read into his thoughts, it still surprised him.  “Expert at assessing addiction are we?”

“You could say that.”  Battling his own issues with lyrium withdrawal, he recognized an outlet when he saw one.  He took a steading breath, which went unnoticed under his armor before leaning on her desk.  “More importantly, I was wondering if you would like some company?”

She was doing it again, her mind working rapidly to scratch at each word, every gesture that he laid out before her to find that little something that always gave her the upper hand in conversations.  “Commander.”

“Cullen.”

“Cullen, you do know that Dorian and I did a bit more than just drinking.  I have some nasty demons running around in my head.  Wait, no.”  She quickly held up her hands to stop him from forming the wrong idea.  “Not literally, but regardless, I needed something stronger than drinks.”

He was well aware of what they had done.  Leliana expressed concern about Praxis’ ability to perform her duties if this were to become a habit.  If anything, she performed better, perhaps due to the increased effort needed to concentrate and hide the lingering ill-effects.  Still, it couldn’t be encouraged further. 

 “I was hoping that I could help in that regard, as a friend.”  Cullen pulled out a vial, handing it over.  “Here, this is less harsh and I’m always here if you need me.”

“Thank you.”  She tested its weight in her hand.  “I wouldn’t have thought the Chantry would tolerate bad habits such as addiction.  Distracts from other more holy pursuits.”

Cullen scoffed with a roll of his eyes.  “Unless that addiction is meant to keep you leashed to the Chantry.  Well, the Order more specifically.  Lyrium is a substance that enhances Templar abilities while eventually eating away at the mind.  Some…things have happened in my past that made me question my vows.  I have since broken ties with that old life.”

“How long has it been?”

“I do not keep track.”

“Yes you do.  Everyone does.”

“Eight months, two weeks.”

She squeezed the vial tighter, staring at it.  “Three years.  Still feels like it was yesterday doesn’t it?”

The silence hung, but lacked any weight, both of them lost briefly in reflection.  “Did being with Krem help?”

“Without a doubt.  Actually, last night Dorian and I were discussing my need for a new partner.  I prefer a few trysts to a dependency.”  She shook the little vial. 

“Do you think the cravings will ever go away?” 

Letting her head fall to the side a bit, she gave the question genuine thought.  “I don’t know, but I want to find out.  I want to see this through, no matter how long it takes.”

A nod, then Cullen stood straight once more.  “At any rate.  I do have some work that I would have you go over.  We need to expand the barracks site.”

“Again?”

“Yes.  After the Inquisitor’s success in the Emprise, there has been another influx of recruits.  I have the maps and rosters in my office.”

“Alright, let grab a few things first.”  Praxis knelt by her desk where she had three small chests sealed with runes which had the unique flair that could only be attributed to Dagna’s craftsmanship.  Praxis pressed her fingers on one to release the seal.

Cullen felt the shift in the Fade.  He rushed to her side, slamming the box shut causing it to seal automatically.  He ignored the confused look in her eyes. 

“Do that again.  Show me how you did it.”

***

After her display of ability, Cullen arranged for them to meet in his office every night until the early morning hours.  He wanted to keep their sessions private until Praxis had better control.  The last thing he wished was for their mage allies to get their feathers ruffled unnecessarily. 

The sessions were interrupted when the Inquisitor returned, along with The Bull,  The mercenary spared no time in making his intention to fill Krem’s old spot known.  Praxis told Cullen that she was going to pursue the relationship, which wasn’t surprising as the Qunari had a certain reputation that fit Praxis’ criteria. 

Honestly, Cullen didn’t think much of it, didn’t want to.  However, when he heard that Bull had carried her to the healers’ quarter early one morning, he’d left his men stunned as he stormed off without a word, murder clear in his eyes.  The flames of his rage were further fanned when he saw that Bull had simply left her there, not even caring enough to stay and see that she was alright.  Praxis sat on a cot, a healer wrapping her arm immobile to her side. 

Upon seeing him, she stood instantly to the Healer’s frustration.  “Good Morning, Commander.”

“Finish that up and leave us.”  He snapped the command, a little harsher than he intended but it did speed the man’s actions. 

Praxis remained impassive, holding her posture as formally as the injury would allow.  Cullen waited for the healer to leave before spilling into his tirade.  “What is this?!  Why didn’t you come to me?  I’ll have his barbaric head for this!”

Her eyes popped wide open, she sprang forward to place her hand on his arm.  “Whoa!  No, no, easy.  Everything is fine, this is an old injury.  After that first time, it pops out easily.  We got a little carried away last night, it’s fine, please.”

It wasn’t until he registered her calm voice and low tone that he realized how aggressive he must appear.  His features fell with concern, his arms reaching out to comfort her shoulders.  “Please don’t tell me this is what you wanted.  This…this abuse…”

“Stop, no.”  She cut him off with a sharp tone.  “I am well aware that what we did is a bit different than what most people do, but trust me, it was consensual.  I’ve done it before and I know my limits, I know how to handle myself.”

Cullen ran his hand lightly down her injured arm.  It didn’t seem right.  She offered more.  “Like I said, we got a little carried away, but that’s part of relationships, sometimes you slip up and have to learn from mistakes.  He is a lot bigger and stronger than I’m used to.”

“I don’t understand.  This isn’t how a gentleman treats a lady.”

Her warm smile eased his fear that Bull was somehow coercing her to protect him.  “Thank you for the compliment but not all relationships are the same, no two people are the same.  I need an escape and he provides that.  My affinity for these activities is part of the reason Krem and I split ways.”

Cullen turned from her, rubbing his neck as he processed her explanation. 

“Look at our professions Cullen.  Both of us should be dead.  Unlike many people, we understand that tomorrow is not a promise.  We’re on borrowed time as it is.  I will not sit and wait for some fanciful ‘happy ever after’, I can’t.  I’m happy with Bull for as long as it works, and when the day comes that it doesn’t, we’ll move on.  I have no regrets being happy in this moment.”

 

Days later, her words still echoed in his mind.

Cullen sat at his desk, rubbing his eyes, pressing against the eyelids as he processed the thought.  The Order had taught him everything that he knew.  It established a set of rules for all aspects of life, love and devotion to the Maker.  Sitting here in Skyhold, free of that isolating bubble, his ankles having stood in bloodied mud, his hands having carried corpses to the pyre, it became clear.  Life was not the pretty picture of courting and chaste relationships depicted in novels.  She was right.  They’d both had multiple encounters with death and miraculously survived.  Time was a perishable luxury that shouldn’t be wasted with mistakes. 

He let his head fall to his desk as the image of the one person he might have held affection for drifted into his mind.  He’d let the Order come between them, believing that they were incompatible because _It_ said so.  Praxis wouldn’t have squandered the opportunity, even knowing it couldn’t last forever.  Kirkwall had been an absolute disaster and only the thought of _him_ lifted his heart…

Standing abruptly, he shoved off from his desk, trying to leave those thoughts behind.  He didn’t get far in his pacing until one of his doors opened.

“Cremisius.”

“Commander.  Captain Praxis would like to invite you to the demonstration of the new trebuchet.”

He nodded and followed the Charger, who waved him away from the stairs and instead, directed him over to the center of the ramparts over the portcullis. 

“Cremisius, how can we see anyth…no.”  He turned violently on Krem, pointing to the distance.  “No, she’s not going to fire a round at Skyhold is she!?”

“Relax Commander, it’s nothing that will damage anything.  It’s mostly to show off to those stuck up shits that keep messing up her designs.”  He pointed vaguely at the brightly colored outfits in the distance that could be no other than the Orlesain Sappers.  “Besides, I need a witness when she proves those bastards wrong.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Cullen eyed Krem skeptically.  Out beyond the bridge, he could distinguish the odd shape of the new trebuchet configuration and judging by how close it was, the projectile had to be something lightweight that didn’t have enough heft to cover a great distance.  From the corner of his eye, he could see Krem getting excited, nearly dancing in place as they both heard the massive piece of equipment cranking into position.   

A moment of silence, then Krem held up his shield.  A bright yellow ‘x’ had been painted on it, intended to be seen from a distance.  Before he could say a word or push Krem away from his purpose, the sound of a distinct _snap_ punched at Cullen’s gut.  Even though he knew that the shot was not lethal, the knowledge didn’t change the way his body naturally reacted from experience, twisting his insides painfully.

A cloud of white dust exploded into the air when the mass knocked Krem soundly on his ass.  The mercenary didn’t seem to mind as he was laughing enthusiastically, practically jumping back up on his feet.  “Yes!  Dead center!  Look at that!”

Cullen inspected the proffered shield to see a concentration of powdered dust at the center.  The remnants of the fabric sack caught his attention.  He reached down to pick it up and rotated it repeatedly in his hands to determine what sort of shape it was supposed to have.  Krem righted it instantly to reveal the torn up body of a nug…with wings. 

Leveling a stern gaze at Krem, Cullen handed the mutilated animal back.  “I’m beginning to question the amount of time Praxis spends with your company.”

“She didn’t make these, Ser, I did.”

“There’s more than one?  Maker’s breath, do at least cease firing them at the Skyhold.  I believe she’s proven her point.”

Krem shrugged as he tucked the torn fabric away.  “Wasn’t my idea, you’d have to take that up with the Chief.”

“Lovely.”

Krem excused himself with a swift salute and cradling the treasured shield that bore the proof of the precise hit, he dashed off to the waiting crowd beyond the gates.  Bull’s height was easy to spot among the group.  Cullen watched with envy as he hefted Praxis up in his arms, congratulating her with open affection and pride.  Public, unintentionally mocking Cullen’s prior actions.   

_As Knight-Captain of what’s left of the circle, I can’t publicly…_

_Don’t bother.  I know.  Forgive **me** for doing what was right._

He’d been a blind fool.

***

The following day, Praxis was already in the war room when Cullen arrived.  He greeted her with a pleased smile.  “Usually I’m the first one here.”

“Old habit.  I once worked for a colonel who said, ‘If you’re early, you’re on time.  If you’re on time you’re late and if you’re late, I’ll kill you.’  Of course this was the same colonel who broke his leg during a roof stomp due to his own stupidity, still, I didn’t want to test his threat.”

“A roof stomp?”

A brief chuckle split her mouth sweetly.  “Yes, it’s a tradition.  A general on base was retiring after thirty-one years in service.  A group of us went to his house in the middle of the night and banged on the building demanding drinks.  Colonel Kilgore, yes that was his real name, I can’t make that up.  He actually climbed up on the roof to literally stomp on it.  He was already tipsy so he fell off easily.”  She laughed again at the memory. 

“I’ve noticed you have been continuing some of your traditions here.”  He answered her questioning stare.  “That fist tapping that you do with the Inquisitor and some of the Chargers.”

“Oh, that.  It’s a means of celebrating small victories.”

Cullen held out a closed fist, mimicking the gesture he’d seen a few times.  “To your unequivocal success with the trebuchets.  I thank you for your immaculate aim and not hitting me.”

It felt utterly ridiculous, but when she returned the gesture, delight dancing in her eyes, it felt pleasant to give her that small token of home. 

“Who says I hit my target?  I take you out, then I’m running the show.”  She winked playfully.

He knew the week with the Sappers had been trying and that the test run was a victory in more ways than one.  Not only were the Sappers impressed, but all ranks of the Inquisition as well.  It had taken nearly two months, but the rumors of Praxis being a pet favorite faded and the display with the ‘flying nug’ solidified her position as earned by merit.   

The heavy doors creaked open as the rest of the advisors followed the Inquisitor into the war room.  Both Commander and Captain stiffened, Cullen greeting the Inquisitor for them both.

“I understand the tests went well?”  Mahanon was in a light, carefree mood.  He tended to be more so of late. 

Cullen gave Praxis a satisfied, sidelong glance as he answered.  “Beyond expectations Inquisitor.  The rest are scheduled for the retrofit and barring no complications, should be battle ready within a month.  I understand the Sappers were also pleased with the opportunity to work with the Inquisition on this joint venture.”

Josephine beamed over her note board.  “They weren’t the only ones pleased, which is why we have asked your Captain to be in attendance today.”

Leliana swayed slightly with her hands clasped behind her back.  “Yes, the nobles within Skyhold have been speaking of nothing else and all of them have written to friends and family about our mysterious foreigner.” 

_Of course Leliana and her people would read every scrap of paper that goes through anyone’s hands at Skyhold._

“Since she will be the fresh gossip of Orlais by the time we reach Halamshiral, Leliana and I would like to suggest taking Praxis with us.”

Groaning in frustration, Cullen rubbed at his eyes with one hand, ending with a pinch of the bridge of his nose.  “You can’t be serious.  You’ve been hounding me with the rules of the Great Game for over a month.”  He nodded politely to Praxis.  “No offense, but we leave in less than two weeks, you can’t reasonably expect her to be caught up in such a short amount of time.” 

“That is part of the beauty of it.  She has displayed a certain aptitude for digesting new information, which should be enough to prevent causing offense while at the same time, presenting an intriguing target.  A foreigner may leave some unguarded with their manners.  Who knows what we may be able to glean from them unsuspectingly.” 

“Praxis, your thoughts?”

“Respectfully, Ser, I don’t need a choice.  Just tell me what to do and I’ll make it happen or inform you it’s impossible.”

Cullen rubbed at his neck in defeat.  “Alright, so long as she has to wear the same ridiculous outfit we all do.”

Mahanon chimed in with stern enthusiasm.  “No one is escaping that outfit.”

Josephine mumbled something under her breath about it being ‘not that bad’.

“Of course Commander.”  Leliana’s mouth was pressed into an amused smile.  “Commander, since she will be presented to the higher court, could we change her rank to something with a little more flair than ‘captain’?”

“Actually I believe it’s a bit overdue.  Half of my Captains report to her already, it would be fitting to correct the oversight.  Will Commandant do?”

“Bold!  Rarely used and yet prestigious.  I like it.  Next, I will need your full name to send ahead with our announcement of intention to attend.”  Josephine pointed her quill at Praxis, waiting for an answer to ink on her paper. 

Praxis hesitated, which caught Cullen off guard.  Thinking back, he’d never asked her full name, even though it must have been printed on the decorations back at her apartment, he’d never thought to pay any attention.

“Is it truly necessary?”

“Of course.  They will need it to announce the party accompanying the Inquisitor.”

Turning an icy glare at Mahanon, she narrowed accusing eyes.  “This is all your doing isn’t it?  You’re a sick, twisted man if this is how you weasel answers out of someone.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Mahanon shot her a smug grin.  “Oh no, this was entirely the ladies’ idea, but I am thankful that it was as simple as this.  Now I no longer have to pester you.”

She huffed out a sigh.  “Fine.  It’s Sunset.  Sunset Madeira Praxis.  You happy?”

“Quite!”  Mahanon was near giggling at her apparent embarrassment at the unusual name. 

“The next order of business is following up on the Grey Warden lead that The Champion gave us.”  Leliana sifted through some notes to find the right one she referenced. 

“The Champion?  Hawke was here?”  Cullen nearly choked on his words in disbelief.

“He was here for two days before leaving for Crestwood.  I would have thought you’d known.”

Catching the question in the Inquisitor’s expression, Cullen gestured with what he hoped would come off as a casual remark.  “We knew one another briefly in Kirkwall, fought together against Meredith when the madness took over.”

_I helped commend his brother to the Maker.  I protected his sister in the circle.  We were…_

It didn’t matter now.  Hawke had obviously moved on with his life and owed Cullen nothing.  Especially after the way Cullen had pushed him away.  Why did it still hurt after all this time?

The meeting dragged on, Cullen providing input now and again, but most of the focus was on gaining allies and not so much on troop movements, not until the Inquisitor could clear out a few more camps to the west. 

 

Adopting one of Praxis’ habits, at the end of the day he changed into the only set of leisure clothes he owned.  Cullen found the practice useful since fewer people would approach him, his dress clearly indicating that he was not attending to any duties for the time being.  Darkness had already slowed down much of the activity within the fortress.  The only sign of life was the brightly lit tavern.  Drowning his memories seemed a reasonable idea, even if he knew in the end, it would only mute them for the night. 

Inside, everyone was happily enjoying Maryden’s music and their own lively conversations.  Praxis was predictably in the Charger’s corner, but surprisingly sitting with Lace, the two held their heads together conspiratorially, laughing frequently.  The entire company was listening to Varric recount some wild tale that he ‘no shit’ saw happen right before his very eyes.  

Cullen laughed inwardly at the silver-tongued dwarf as he found his way to Cabot.  He nodded toward the back, asking the barkeep, “Anyone using the Inquisitor’s room?”

“Not tonight Commander.”

Cullen collected his drink and headed for the empty room, taking a light with him.  He chose a seat out of line of sight of the open door to the main tavern.  Staring at his drink, he wondered why Hawke hadn’t come by.  It was ridiculous how this had consumed him all day, but he couldn’t shake it.  In Kirkwall, he’d wanted them to stay together, wanted so much…but the Order…

He drank half his tankard in one go.  The Order had held him back, had made him question his affections and now he sat here alone because of it.  He hung his head with a heavy groan.

“Tough day?”  Praxis stood past the threshold. 

“Trying to shake off some bad memories, that’s all.”  He turned back to his drink, but left it sitting on the small table. 

Praxis pulled a chair up beside him, she sat astride to fold her arms on the high back.   “Need someone to talk to?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.  I made a mistake a while ago.  No amount of talking will fix that.”

She rested her head on her arms, studying him.  He imagined that she saw right through him, witnessing the moment of cowardice that he tortured himself with constantly.  He didn’t care, actually hoping she could reach in and take it away.

Rising from her seat, she glided next to him.  In the plain clothes, he could feel her warmth as she stood next to him.  “Do you need something stronger than drinks tonight?”

Her fingers scraped lightly up the back of his neck and then ruffled through his hair.  He moaned involuntarily, leaning into the motion, incapable of remembering the last time someone touched him so intimately.  No armor, no gloves, just skin. 

“I want my memories to stop haunting me for one bloody night.”

She took this as an invitation and straddled his lap, her breasts pressed against him as her fingers continued to weave through his hair, aggressively grabbing then pulling him upward for a bruising kiss.  She was tasting him, breathing deep, then humming her satisfaction through his lips.  Rocking against his hips, his mouth felt her smile when she found him rock solid within his trousers.  She smelled of soap heavy with flower oil, clean and delicate.  His hands dug into the soft skin of her ribs, helping her light body move against his. 

After a playful lick to the tip of his nose, Praxis leaned back.  “This isn’t helping is it?” 

“Yes, it is!  It’s just that…it’s been awhile and I’m…well.” 

She placed a finger on his lips, silencing him as she rose from his lap.  “One second.  I have a better idea.”

When she left the room, Cullen suddenly felt like an idiot.  This was absurd and dangerous.  What would Bull do if he caught them?  Maker’s breath, the man was in the next room!  He knew the mercenary was rather carefree about his love life but here he was, letting Bull’s current partner throw herself at him.  Burying his face in both hands, Cullen leaned over his knees.  Would he really have debauched his own Commandant because of how he felt about Hawke?  This was insanity.

A momentary break in the light from the main tavern drew his eyes out of their pit of despair.  The Iron Bull strolled into the shadowy room, straight for Cullen.  The Commander stood, ready to take whatever punishment he’d earned for abusing a subordinate and another man’s lover.

Bull stopped only inches away.  “Don’t think.”

There wasn’t time.  Cullen already forgot everything that came before those words when Bull  wrapped one arm across his back and the other down over Cullen’s ass, groping, kneading it shamefully while he passionately claimed Cullen’s mouth.  The searing kiss was deep, strong and Bull’s coarse beard rubbing against his skin ignited Cullen’s blood. 

Bull was tall, aggressive.  He was a man with hard lines and rough skin.  A shiver sliced through Cullen as his hands shot instantly to Bull’s chest, attempting to feel him under the harness, then giving up, he wrestled the buckles loose.  The noise of the equipment crashing to the ground made his heart skip a beat, breaking them apart. 

_Did someone hear?  Will they come in?_

The vision of the half-naked warrior before him brushed those worries away, the fire of his intense need to rut melted them into the background noise of the tavern’s laughter and music.  He dove for the other man’s body once more, needing to feel hard muscle under his fingers, tasting dry sweat on skin became a driving force.  The rumble in Bull’s chest as the mercenary took pleasure in tactfully peeling the clothes form Cullen’s body put his mind exactly where he wanted it.

“ _Hawke._ ”  The name came out impulsively.  Saying it out loud made his insides burst with a  new wave of heated desire. 

The scrape of a beard, masculine hands holding his neck, the wall of muscle, all of him, made it so easy to pretend.  These were Hawke’s hands, his chest, his breath streaming over Cullen’s neck.  He pinched his eyes tighter when Bull reached for his aching shaft, arching into his touch.  The motion was slow, tantalizing. 

There was a frisky groan, a few bites into his shoulder, but the pace set for pumping his cock didn’t change, even when Cullen’s back suddenly hit a wall.  Cullen’s hands roamed over the broad-shouldered man who smelled of leather, ale, and that distinct dust from the training yard.  Cullen brushed his knee up the man’s thigh while lapping at a nipple, his fingers having migrated to his partner’s robust neck.

The knee was the only hint that was needed.  Immediately, Cullen’s member was left lonesome while another was produced from billowy trousers.  Some other actions were happening between their bodies but Cullen was oblivious.  He’d wanted this so badly, for years, regret had eaten at him and now this half measure was hitting that itch, that sensual need which was buried deep within him. 

Massive hands expertly grabbed Cullen’s ass, lifting him off the ground, a press of the hips sent Cullen’s legs clutching the waist.

A slick, bulging head slid along the crease of his ass, then…

_Ohh-yes._

It pushed its way in.  Cullen relaxed to let himself be filled, the hold of his legs failed but the hulking arms were more than strong enough to glide Cullen over the thick, firm cock.  He could feel the crown pressing gloriously over that magic bundle of nerves. 

For a moment, flashes of reality slipped into his consciousness.  

The noise of the tavern. 

One of his officers watching.

A man balls deep within him.

It all boiled over, encouraging flashes of heat to burn through his skin, pushing him beyond caring.  He quivered within the man’s arms.

“Andraste preserve me!”  His volume was masked by a timely cheer from the main room.  Applause rewarding a performance that Cullen felt was better earned by the man rutting him into the wall. 

“Fuck me, Hawke.”  Words he should have said, longings he shouldn’t have ignored. 

His hands continued to worship the thick flesh that flexed and eased under his touch.  Each breath filled his body with adrenaline.  It was a rush, as if he were leaping over a chasm with every intake, the excitement and thrill crashing within him, pushing him to be reckless.  He moved effortlessly within the tight hold, both men working together to create the perfect combination of thrust and sink, each of them breathing through the other’s mouth.  His body pitched upward each time, the feeling of rapture hitching higher as the thought of being pumped full to the point that cum oozed from his ass.  His own cock leaked freely between their taut stomachs, strings of the sticky syrup connecting their bodies.    

His forehead fell on a chest, glistening with sweat and heaving with labored breath.  Cullen smiled knowing that the strain was due to him being fucked perfectly.  His head lolled back as he let the idea swim through his head. 

“Yes, fuck me, _fuck me_.”  He hissed the words to the ceiling as he mentally withdrew from the world around him.  There was nothing but his fantasy and the swelling fulfillment ramming deep into him.  Air began to catch in his throat as his throbbing need slammed within him to the point he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. 

“ _Ah…ah…ah… yes, yes!_ ”  He cried out while he bucked his hips and pulled their bodies tight together.  Grinding, squeezing each pulsing gush as he spilled his seed between them. 

He continued to cling to the solid shoulders as his body was ravished with frenzied thrusts that left him full of warm cum, the spurts forcing it out and around the sides as Bull slowed to easy, shallow pumps.  Cullen sucked and kissed at the cords of muscle in the warrior’s neck, his left hand caressing the roughly bearded jaw, directing it in for a round of sated, thankful kisses between gasping breaths. 

Gently, Bull lowered Cullen to the floor but kept his firm grip on the Commander’s waist until he found his balance.  Cullen waved him off, but still ended up slouching against the wall, in a drunken haze of fresh sex.  His body hummed, weak and shaky, forcing him to double over to brace himself on his knees while his body processed the rush to his system. 

_Maker’s breath, how long has it been?_

Inhaling deeply, he regained his composure to stand straight.  Bull had already righted his trousers and collected his harness, which he slung over his shoulder.  “Take your time.  Praxis is still keeping watch.”

In semi-privacy, Cullen collected and donned his clothes, his anger at Hawke slightly dulled, but still raw.  Sitting in a chair, boots fastened, he leaned back rethinking the night. 

“Praxis.”

Once at his side, he smiled up at her as he took her hand lightly in his.  “How did you know?”

She gave an amused snort.  “I’ve kissed enough men who didn’t favor the ladies to know how to recognize it.”  Her expression turned to concern.  “You going to be alright?”

The unspoken statement was obvious.  _Hawke will return.  You’ll have to face him at some point._

Rubbing at his neck with a heavy sigh, Cullen avoided her eyes.  “Yeah.  I will be.  I’ve got time to sort things out.”  He squeezed her hand lightly as he looked back up.  “Are things going to be alright between you and Bull?”

“Of course.”  She seemed confused he would even ask.  “Shit, that was unbelievably hot.  Tonight is already shaping up to be quite promising.”

Cullen held up a hand, turning his head away from her as if that would block out her descriptions.  “Alright, alright.  I don’t want to know.”

“He’s out in the tavern now buying his guys a round of drinks.  Once things get loud again, you should be able to walk out with few noticing or caring.”

The noise was indeed growing, he paused at the door, speaking over his shoulder.  “Thank you for this.”

***

After a rare decent night’s sleep, Cullen went to the great hall to take his morning meal.  Most of the inquisitor’s party was already seated, Bull and Praxis speaking with Varric.

“So, you say you don’t have nobles where you’re from, so what’s the signet ring for?”  Varric pointed to her left hand with his fork.

Praxis lifted up her hand, showing the wide, man-sized ring.  “This?  It’s from the military academy.  Everyone receives one upon graduation with the year stamped on the side.  As a joke a few years ago, I began wearing it on my wedding finger, saying that I was married to my job.  I’ve never thought to move it since.”

Bull’s arm snaked around her back, hooked onto her hip and drew her up closer to pinch her ass firmly.  “Good, you’ve already got a binding ring, now I don’t have to deal with that shit.”

“Oh please Tiny!  The day I see you marry is the day I shave my chest and sell Bianca.”

Praxis was the first to see Cullen approaching.  It wasn’t until she stood to offer her salute that his steps faltered.  How were they going to pretend that last night didn’t happen?  The thought started a flush that he couldn’t control, the more he tried the worse it got.  He couldn’t imagine how red his face was, the heat felt oppressive, and with everyone looking at him, he couldn’t back away now.  He returned her salute and gestured for her to sit down, taking the empty seat next to her. 

Cullen could feel Mahanon’s eyes smiling at him.  He refused to look, filling his plate from the spread laid out on the table. 

“Commander, you seem a bit distracted this morning.”  Finally raising his head, Cullen saw Mahanon with his fingers interlaced under his chin, eagerness written clearly in his features. 

Cullen lurched forward as Bull slapped him hard across the back.  “Commander got an eyeful last night!  Haha!  Should’ve knocked louder boss-man.”

Cassandra made a disgusted face, but her tone betrayed a hint of interest.  “Oh no, you walked in on Bull and Praxis?”

Bull leaned over the table, his hands ready to demonstrate.  “You see, she does this amazing thing where she takes her legs and…”

Dorian slammed a hand on the table.  “Andraste’s sacred knickers!  Please, Bull!  This meal is hardly palatable as it is, must you find a way to make it worse?”

“Haha!  Easy there big guy.  I didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.” 

Dorian was fuming, quickly taking offense to every word that came out of Bull’s mouth.  Mahanon wasn’t helping in the least and was actually scooting away from the enraged mage when he couldn’t contain his laughter.  A volley of insults became the new entertainment.  Sera’s vulgar contributions had Solas excusing himself from the table.  All attention was redirected away from Cullen.  He felt a friendly pat on his leg, but when he looked at Praxis, her gaze was fixed on Dorian who now stood, pointing angrily at Bull who intentionally continued to poke fun at the mage.

And that was how last night never happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Praxis and Bull actually have an argument and Bull tries to delve more into her history.


	10. The Soldier Above all Others Prays for Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small break from NSFW as this chapter is inspired by a DA quote of course:
> 
> "Reach down into your heart and you'll find many reasons to fight: Survival. Honor. Glory. But what about those who feel it's their duty to protect the innocents? There you will find a warrior savage enough to match any dragon; and in the end, they'll retain what the others don't: their humanity."
> 
> Text in **bold** is spoken in Orlesian

All taverns, pubs, and inns have a unique rhythm.  Songs floated through the air setting the tone.  The patron’s conversations were the lifeblood, the pulse of the community.  Tonight, the Inquisition was in high spirits, confident, happy.  Good morale made for good soldiers.  The Inquisitor was doing a fine job with recruiting and caring for the masses ignored by inept nobles. 

Bull was trying to distract himself from the inevitable conversation he knew he’d have with Leliana.  The influence Praxis gained within the Inquisition was troublesome, but she never abused it.   The relationship she had with the Inquisitor was a cause for concern, but she never failed to keep their familiarity separate from work.  Every possible power play that was in her deck of cards, she held back.  Either she was as altruistically noble as Cullen or merely waiting to see who the victor of all this would be, choosing a side once success was assured. 

Those were the simple possibilities.  Extraneous factors clouded the certainty of one over the other, most notably the ones that arose when they had sex.  Even thinking of it put a lecherous grin on his face. 

She was a different person during those times, she let herself be helpless, trusting him implicitly, and it was beautiful.  There was nothing else that existed in those moments beyond their two bodies entwined together.  He felt protective of her, wanting to shield her from the haunting memories that she hid from everyone.  They were always there, clouding her mind right before she used him, trusted him to help her find an escape.  Pouring herself into her work helped, but when she had nothing to occupy her mind at night, what was when her demons were at their worst. 

Sitting next to him, she joked easily with everyone in his company.  She was more relaxed here, but still, not truly herself.  Instead of his usual feeling of triumph at solving a challenging puzzle, Bull kept falling back to the instinctual feeling of ‘protect’.  He pushed it away, ignoring the way it nagged at him.  There was no need for such sentiments beyond ensuring she continued to help the Inquisition.  So long as the Inquisition continued to bring order to the south, the Viddasala upheld his orders to stay.  He grimaced at the reminder that he was due for another report soon. 

The atmosphere in the tavern changed subtly and Bull scanned the building to find the cause.  Over by the bar, Xander de Verness, one of the more obnoxious Chevaliers, was being particularly annoying tonight, most likely because he had an audience of lackeys to impress.  At least he had the decency to avoid the king’s tongue, otherwise the entire tavern would have been up in arms at this thoughtless remarks. 

“ **I have never seen so many pathetic soldiers in my life!  Oh, you should have seen this one recruit that I happened upon earlier today.  The little whelp was shaking and crying like a babe.  Honestly, they must pull these children from Ferelden, the fragile little sops!** ”

Bull ground his teeth at the comment.  Praxis however, rose from the table and walked up to the self-righteous group. 

_Oh, this should be good._

" **Good evening gentlemen.  I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."** She pulled up a chair, inviting herself to the table, assuredly offending each person there. **“Is there some problem we need to talk about?** ”

Xander waved her off, earning smirks from his fellow Chevaliers that encouraged his flippant attitude.  “ **I am in no mood to entertain the ramblings of some worthless sell-sword’s whore**.”

" **Excuse me?  Did you seriously suggest that The Iron Bull and his company are not contributing to the Inquisition?** "  With narrowed eyes, her mouth set in a grim line, she threatened him to contradict her. 

“ **Nothing but brutes and thugs.  Look at them, wasting what little coin they possess on drink.  Not a scrap of honor among them.  No sense of duty!  I don’t know which is worse, them or the frightened soldiers.** ”  He laughed, dark and admonishing. 

Most of the Chargers knew enough Orlesian that Bull wasn’t the only one following the conversation.  All of them tensed, hands moving to weapons.  Bull nudged at Krem, his lieutenant ready to call down the boys if they got to hotheaded.  There was no doubt that things were going to escalate, but inside a tavern is a bad place for that to happen.

“ **Such a gentleman, I’m impressed.  Tell me, do you wander through the healer’s quarter and make fun of the sick and dying?  Remind me again how many actual battles you have fought in.  Hmm, I seem to recall that number totals…none, you duty-dodging, non-contributing shit.**”

Xander pointed a finger at her, snarling barbarically as he deigned her unworthy of propriety.  “ **You listen here, foreigner…** ” 

With a deftness that drove him crazy in the bedroom, Bull watched Praxis snag and twist the bastard’s arm painfully.  He was disappointed when he didn’t hear the crack of a bone breaking.  “ **No.  You will listen to me.  What qualifies you to judge anyone?  You honestly would admonish a fellow man because he still maintains enough compassion to be appalled by the horrors of war?  Yes, he is afraid but he still fights.  You know nothing of the world outside your safe areas and ill-earned applause.  How many bodies have you placed on the pyre?  How often have you walked into a burned out village and thanked the Maker every time you found the charred remains of entire family, knowing they have been spared the life of a refugee?”**

She lowered her voice, but the intensity remained.  There was no mistake that each disturbing scene she described, she had witnessed firsthand.  By the Qun, this woman was magnificent.  Her unguarded happiness became all the more precious as she exemplified the trait she admired in others.  She has felt, lived, and suffered under war, but she never lost her humanity.  He began to wonder if during her darkest times if she would have been like him, sent for re-education to reclaim her role in the world.  Perhaps she had.

 “ **Do you even know what it is like to saw through flesh, chipping away at bone while that person screams, bites, kicks and claws at you to stop?  What do you know of watching your friend, _your family_ , die beside you and still have to continue fighting?  Their body being trampled, mutilated and ruined beyond recognition?**"

She surveyed the table slowly.  The other Chevaliers were silent, one attempting to hide his shame behind a gloved hand. 

" **War is ugly and it takes remarkable people to go into it again and again and still manage to come out decent person in the end.  The Iron Bull, his company, they are good men.  Our soldiers are good men.  For your sake, you had better hope that I continue my relationship with The Iron Bull.  It is only because I wish for him to have a good opinion of me that I stay my hand.  Otherwise, I would have no problem slicing your dick off and skull-fucking your eye socket with the pommel of your sword while you choked on your own mangled, impotent, flesh**.”

She stood slowly, making purposeful eye contact with each person at the table, her expression as serious as an exalted march.  “ **There will no longer be any talk of soldiers being pathetic or mercenaries being brutes.  I have no problem going back to prison.  Do not test me.** "

There were a few mumbled _Yes, Ser’s_.  Xander was the only one who showed no remorse, rage contorting his face as Praxis found a seat next to Skinner further  down the table from Bull.  The pair eventually moved to one of the upper floors, Bull didn’t pay attention.  He was certain that Xander was getting ready to make a big mistake.

Another hour passed and Praxis walked down the stairs, weaving through the tavern, speaking with a few people before leaving for the night.  Her clothes were fitting slightly different.  Good.  Xander finished the last of his tankard then stalked out the door. 

_Damn, sometimes it would be nice to be wrong._

With a frustrated growl, Bull abandoned his drink to seek out Dorian a few tables away and having a lively discussion with Varric.

"C’mon Vint, we’re going for a walk."

"That has to be the worst invitation I’ve ever received." Dorian wagged his finger teasingly, his voice decadently pleasant to the ears.  "You know that I'm spoken for.  You'll simply have to lower your standards to satisfy that barbaric need of yours" 

“I’ve already got someone prettier than you.”  Bull jerked his head with emphasis, challenging Dorian to correct him.  “Besides, we're going to make sure she makes it back to her quarters in one piece."

Dorian instantly sobered, standing with readied urgency.  “What have you done?”

Varric grabbed Bianca, nocking a series of arrows.  “Nice try Tiny.  There’s no way I’m missing out on this.”

“I need you to get Cullen.  The more witnesses the better.”  Bull gestured for the two to follow, matching his brisk pace.

The trio headed for the exit, Varric still in disbelief.  “Are you sure someone is stupid enough to try and take on the Commandant?”

“Injuring Orlesian pride is about as insulting as using your dick to stir their coffee.”

Outside and away from bystanders, Varric elbowed Dorian. “Ten royals says that Bull doesn’t let this guy live through the night.”

“Fifteen says _Praxis_ will end his idiocy.”

Bull wasn’t too worried about Praxis surviving the encounter.  She still carried the weapon she brought from her home country if it ever came to that. 

Watching Dorian stride out of the tavern, unsheathe his staff and prime a spell that made the air crackle with smell of ozone, Bull had to admit that the Tevinter was damn imposing when he wanted to be.  His gait, the way he carried his staff, was all pretty fucking impressive.  Bull caught movement out of the corner of his eye as Varric swiftly made his way to Cullen’s office.  Even in haste and with minimal effort, the rogue managed a remarkable level of stealth.  Yeah, the Inquisitor has done a damn fine job in assembling the core of the Inquisition.

They caught up to Praxis just past the training yard.  She walked with her head down, arms crossed, walking at a slow pace.  It wasn't normal.  She looked vulnerable, sad, and completely out of character how she appeared to be an easy target. 

As expected, Xander slinked out of the shadows, stalking overconfidently toward Praxis.  Bull held up a hand to stop Dorian in his tracks.  He could feel the fury shaking the mage as Xander got too close and too touchy with Praxis.  With no one else in the yard, sound carried easily.

“Filthy slut!”  Xander grabbed Praxis by the arm, forcing her to face him.  “You have the audacity to call out my actions in front of my men?  You ignorant upstart!”  He shoved her hard enough she lost her footing, falling to the ground.  “I will ensure there is nothing left of you to send to prison!”

Dorian whispered uselessly in her direction.  “Get up!  What are you doing?” 

He looked imploringly at Bull, who didn’t even glance back, following the scene before him intently.  “Wait.”

She scooted back away from him, her feet kicking helpless in the sand.  Her voice was steady, but meeker than usual.  "You are making a mistake.  Leave me alone or I swear you will regret it."

Dorian shifted his weight uneasily, Bull touched his arm to steady him.  "Wait."

"Fasta vass!  Shall we wait until he has her head on a pike?!"

Hurried movement on the battlements, a flash of red fabric and golden hair.  Bull’s eye stayed focused on Praxis body, the tension in her muscles, her face.  "She has a plan."

Xander kicked her in the face, throwing her body flush to the ground.  "You hideous wretch.  You will never insult me or my countrymen ever again!" 

He produced a dagger and was on her quickly, stabbing wildly as a man who is unaccustomed to dirty fighting.  Cullen called out as he and Varric raced down to the yard.  Dorian cast a spell knocking the man from on top of her but her arm jerked with his body, her hand stuck in the assailant’s hair.

More soldiers were coming, drawn to the shouts from the Commander.  Bull was the first to discover that she didn't actually have Xander by the hair.  As she stood, he saw that she had poked him in the eye, then hooked her finger behind the bridge of his nose to come out the other side, forcing his eyes to bulge disturbingly from their sockets.

She treated him like a dog on a leash, pulling him, whipping him around, the man fully at the mercy of the pain she inflicted.  "What did I tell you?!  Did you think I was fucking kidding?!  How dare you try to take advantage of someone you believed weaker than yourself!  I'll say it one last time.  Do not insult or harass soldiers who do the work you are too prideful and inept to accomplish!"

One of the approaching soldiers gagged at the sight.  With a shove, she freed her finger and kicked the man to the ground.  Dorian rushed to her side and she held him back with a stiff arm, much to his confusion.  "Stay back, I'll bleed all over you."

"Praxis?  Praxis!"  He caught her before she fell, supporting her as she lost the ability to stand on her own. 

Striding across the field, Cullen immediately took command.  “Dorian, get her to the healers!  Bull, help me carry this villain to the dungeons.  Varric, inform the Inquisitor and the other advisors that we need to call a war council, now.”  

The Chevalier was screaming as he squirmed on the ground, his hands cradling his damaged eyes.  Bull wanted to finish the job and stomp his pampered little face in.  At least Cullen was just as rough as he was when they picked up and dragged the indignant Orlesian across the yard.  People were pouring out of the tavern, rushing to see the cause of the incessant howling and endless cursing.  Bull tightened his grip and twisted on the arm harder until he heard that magic snapping sound of a breaking bone.  Now the man was shrieking and incapable of words. 

 _Ah, there it is.  Much better._  

“Captain Hossack, maintain order while we handle this.  You there!  Keep those people back!”  Cullen’s command was instantly relayed throughout the yard, soldiers moved to handle crowd control, especially the enraged Chevaliers who demanded their concerns be addressed immediately without a scrap of knowledge of what had transpired. 

After they’d thrown their prisoner in his new home, Cullen marched for the surface.  “Bull, you need to put your men on the alert in the event any of the Chevaliers seek out retaliation.  I’ll place a guard in the healer’s quarter for Praxis.”

It seemed that Bull wasn’t the only one who thought of Praxis as part of the Chargers.  Funny how things like that happened. 

“I’ll guard her.  I’m no good anywhere else.”  Cullen nodded in agreement then jogged off for the war room.

Outside of the healer’s building, Dorian was pacing a path into the sparse grass, stopping when he saw Bull approaching.  “Kaffas!  Why did I listen to you?!”  Dorian was on the warpath, he shoved Bull, adding an extra ‘punch’ of lightning for emphasis.  “Four times, he stabbed her four times!”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Are you addled?  I saw it happen!”

Bull brushed past, pushing the mage out of his way.  “She knew he was coming for her.  She was wearing thin armor under her clothes that Skinner gave her in the tavern.”

There was a pause in Dorian’s tirade, although he recovered quickly.  “That’s no excuse!”

Krem and few of the Chargers rushed around the corner.  “Chief!  Heard what happened.  What’s our next move?”

“Nothing.  Stay low, out of sight.  The Inquisition doesn’t want things to escalate.  Let the others know.”  All but Krem darted off to inform the others.

“Krem, surely you are a man of honor.”  Bull snarled at Dorian’s slight, the mage waving off his glare.  “I would think that as a gentleman and her former paramour, you would have some objection to Bull refusing to render aid when Praxis was being attacked.”

Krem was unphased.  “I’m sure the Chief had good reason.”

“She needed to face the Chevalier.  If we had intervened, he or someone else would have looked for another opportunity when we weren’t around.  She knocks out the biggest they got by herself and the rest won’t even think to try.”

Dorian huffed with a roll of his eyes, but seemed to reluctantly accept the explanation.

A healer appeared in the doorway, nodding at the group of men.  “She’s asked to see you.”  Bull stepped forward.  “No, the Tevinter.”  He pointed to Krem with a bloodied rag in his hand. 

Hesitating only a moment in confusion, Krem walked into the building. 

“How is she?”  Dorian called out before the healer could disappear back inside. 

The healer leaned back on against the wall.  “She’s a challenge.  I haven’t seen that much blood since Haven.  She’s more difficult to heal than a Templar.”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “Even using two mages wasn’t enough.  We had to settle with thread, needle and bandages like savages.  At least the potions were able to help with the pain, but not much else.  She was lucky that she was wearing armor, only two strikes made it through.  Nothing too deep.”

Dorian was going to probe, but Bull stepped on his foot to keep him quiet.  Bull spoke with a heaviness that the healer noticed.  “You may want to talk to Commander Cullen about that before mentioning it to anyone else.”

The healer paused a moment before nodding then slipping back into the building. 

Dorian kicked Bull with full force.  “How long have you known?”

“I’m guessing she’s kept you out of her office.  There are only two kinds of people that I’ve ever seen capable of activating runes: mages and Templars.  She uses them to keep her paperwork locked up.  That, combined with her seeing Cullen on a daily basis confirm that he’s helping her develop her Templar abilities.  If she were a mage, he’d have sent her to Fiona.”

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Dorian’s gaze drifted as his mind processed the concept.  “It does make sense.  She would naturally have a high resistance to magic since her homeland developed without any connection to the Fade.  I wonder…”  Dorian cast fire in his hands, the ball swirling as he poured mana into it.  He walked towards the building and there was a slight change in how the flames moved.  “Fascinating!  Her resistance to magic practically makes her a ward unto herself.  It’s no wonder the spell I used to bring us back didn’t behave correctly, just standing nearby threw it off.  This is astonishing!”

Bull watched the excitement grow behind the mage’s eyes, experiments and tests queuing up in his mind.  “Before you cream yourself and ruin that fancy dress of yours, know that Cullen hid this for a reason.  You may want to talk to him before approaching Praxis about doing your weird ass magic show.”

Resistant to magic or not, Bull didn’t like the idea of Praxis being a part of any experiments involving magic.  And there it was again, that feeling, the urge to protect her.  He was certain now that it wouldn’t go away this time.  Perhaps, not ever.  He’ll need to figure out how to deal with that problem later. 

Krem walked out with his shoulders slumped, his eyes seeing nothing, his mind so far removed that Bull had to say his name twice to catch his attention.

“Sorry Chief, I was…thinking.”

Bull hadn’t seen Krem with such a lost look on his face since the bar fight in Tevinter when they first met.  “Hey.”  Bull placed a hand on Krem’s shoulder and felt him flinch slightly.  Anger began to build, Bull scrambled to stay focused, rational.  “What happened?”

Pushing off Bull’s hand with no strength behind it, Krem walked away.  “Something Xander said to Praxis.  I can’t explain it, not to you.”  He turned, barely speaking over his shoulder.  “No offense, it’s a human thing.” 

They’d always exchanged fun barbs about each other’s background but never had a comment dug in beneath the skin to fester.  Bull felt every bit the savage that many accused his kind of being.  It burned hot in his blood, screaming as it pulsed within his muscles.  The raging emotion was controlling him.  His thoughts became chaotic, disorganized. 

Xander and Praxis had wrestled on the ground but a scarce moment, how could he possibly say anything of significance?  How could he shove a wedge between him and Krem, Krem of all people?  How could that elitist shit say anything that would rip Krem from him?  This was insanity.  There was nothing, _nothing!_ that asshole could have said to cause this outcome.

“Bull?  Maker’s blood, are you sweating?”  The disgust in Dorian’s voice was a lifeline, drawing him back from the madness, the disjointed thoughts that were a jumble of explosive words.  Dorian’s robes swayed gracefully in the breeze, Bull’s gaze fixated on the calming waves of fabric, like an ocean wave cresting and falling, light catching on the silver embroidery, sparkling.  Constant, contained, controlled, calm. 

Forcing a deep groan that rattled in his throat, Bull smiled luridly at Dorian, falling back on the art of deflection.  “Just thinking how much fun it must be to undo all those fancy belts and buckles.  I doubt half of them actually do anything.”

“Vishante kaffas!  Is there ever a moment when sex isn’t on your mind?”

Bull regained control of his heartbeat, his breathing was less forced and coming at a relaxed natural pace.  The chaos in his mind was gone.  He laughed, “Are you saying there are times yours isn’t?”

 “You are a bizarre beast.”  Dorian drew himself up indignantly, waving off Bull’s comment with a flick of his wrist.  “I shan’t waste any more time with you, certainly there may be some useful information that Cullen can provide concerning Templar healing.”

“Good.  You do that.” 

“Do try and keep her from getting stabbed again, won’t you?”

Alone, Bull ducked through the doorway, crouching slightly under some of the lower beams as he crossed the wide-open room to where Praxis lay in the corner.  The cot next to her creaked under his weight as he settled down, spreading his legs wide for his arms to rest limp on his knees. 

“How ya doing, Spitfire?”     

Her left eye was swelling, a small cut on her cheek from Xander’s boot scabbed over.  She smirked with an easygoing manner that let him know she wasn’t in too much pain.  “I’ll be fine.  The healers are in a huff.  I suppose that I’m a bit of an anomaly.  You saw what happened?”

A single nod.  “Dorian and I had your back.”

“You should have reminded me who the fucker’s cousin was.”  Her tone was scathing and entirely directed at herself as her eyes wandered to the ceiling, fixing on a lantern above.

Bull was aware of Xander’s family connections through his spy network, not that he thought it mattered much in this situation.  “So the bastard’s cousin is a member of the Orlesian high court, he still attacked you first.”

“And I could have handled it better!  I could have…fuck!  How could I forget something that important?”

“Hey, everyone forgets these little things...”

She turned sharply to face him again.  “I don’t forget!  Don’t you ever say that to me!  This isn’t little dammit!  I can’t let this kind of shit slip, the Inquisition is too important.  What’s happening right now?”  She pointed a hand in the direction of the main castle.  “We both know it’s going to be a long night for the Inquisitor and advisors.  Fuck me!”  She slammed the palm of her hand against her forehead.  “If only he’d been one of those other useless pricks.”

Bull placed his hand on hers, kneading his fingers into the heel of her other hand in a calming rhythm.  “There’s nothing you can do about that now.”

She wretched her hand away, twisting on the cot to rest with her back facing Bull.  “It shouldn’t have happened.  Just go, please.”

Keeping his tone level, he made sure there wasn’t a hint of annoyance, only understanding.  “You got it.”  

He didn’t want to leave but he knew that there was nothing that he could say or do to improve her mental state at the moment.  This was new and above all things, something that he thought would never happen.  A man called her a whore in public and she doesn’t flinch.  He tries to comfort her and she bites his damn head off.  He found a chair and carried it outside.  Just outside the door, he leaned back on the chair’s hind legs and propped his feet up on a nearby barrel.  While he scanned the area for any possible threats, he listened for any new fighting, and slowly replayed the night in his mind, picking apart each word, every gesture, looking for the true cause of Praxis’ fury.

***

The following afternoon Bull knew that Cullen and Dorian would be in the gardens for a game of chess.  Josephine was able to smooth things over with the Orlesian nobles with the help of a testimony from Cullen and assurances from the Inquisitor.  Fortunately, the other Chevaliers decided to distance themselves from Xander’s actions by supporting Praxis.  It seems they weren’t all morons and decided to finally wise up after Praxis’ lecture in the tavern and quit licking each other’s balls for ego’s sake.  A solid rumor was quickly making its rounds that vilified all of Xander’s actions and emphasized Praxis’ defense of the Inquisition.  Praxis went right back to work the following morning, Cullen restricting her to office work once he found it impossible to bend the stubborn woman’s will. 

Approaching the pair, Bull picked up that Dorian was already boasting about his ‘inevitable’ win.  Glancing at the board, Cullen had him in three moves. 

"What can you tell me about Praxis' military service?"

“Good afternoon Bull.  Pleasure to see you, and oh, yes, I’m doing quite well thank you for asking!”

Cullen chuckled at Dorian’s playful offense and chose to gloss over his comments.  "She's served all over.  A few dozen countries, been in multiple skirmishes, even had to fight back militants who overran the perimeter of their outpost once."

"So she's seen a fair amount of combat, death, blood, and gore.”  He scratched at his jaw, looking for a new angle.  “The ambush that took her leg, was that her first one?"

"No, that's somewhat recent.  Four years ago I believe."  Cullen moved one of his pieces.  “She led a smaller team, similar to your Chargers with varied specializations.  Her country doesn’t conduct war in the way we’re accustomed.  It’s more ‘urban warfare’ if that holds any significance.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”  Every moment he spent in Seheron flashed through his field of vision in an instant.  Urban warfare was unnatural, the worst part of it being the inability to know the difference between combatants and non-combatants.  Too often innocents would get caught in the crossfire.  

Bull mulled over the information again.  Why would that one incident haunt her? 

Why does anything? 

Shit, she blames herself for the attack.

"What about her family?"

Cullen gestured to Dorian.  "Dorian knows Hunter best."

Dorian’s face beamed at the opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge.  "Handsome man.  His husband has exquisite taste in fashion.  Anything in particular you'd like to know?"

"Were they close?"

"Quite actually.  Hunter’s as brilliant as she is, a family trait I believe.  He inherited the family business, a company that does research and development of innovations for the military, possibly why she and Dagna get along so well.  I believe the long-term plan was for her to leave the military after her required service term to join him in running the family business.  She'd purchased an apartment in anticipation of such.  After her amputation, Hunter was unsuccessful in persuading her to get out early."

Bull could understand her reluctance to leave.  Transitioning to a civilian life was always hard for a soldier or mercenary, but to have the added stigma of an injury made it extremely difficult.  If anything the display in the tavern let him know that she would struggle trying to blend in, unable to shake her dedication to her fellow soldiers.  Each day she would have to fight to keep her mouth shut.  Spend every moment standing in a crowd, knowing that she was alone, different amongst strangers who would never see bloodshed, never know the difference between sacrificing everything and foregoing a favorite food. 

The night on the battlements flashed back to him.  If he hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t seen that he came from the same world of horrors that she did, she would have jumped. 

This information was good, but still brought him no closer to understanding her outburst from last night. 

Completely unaware of the revelations that Bull was forming in his head, Cullen lounged back into his chair after making the game winning move.  "Bull, why are you asking us?"

Refusing to acknowledge the win, Dorian bumped into the table as he crossed his legs, sending the pieces falling over as he chuckled melodically.  "Do I detect trouble in paradise?"

A worried look flashed over Cullen's face.  Bull knew the question and allayed his fears with a shrug.  "Don't worry Cullen, it has nothing to do with that time you walked in on us."

Dorian sat up straighter in his chair.  "I must admit that I am quite intrigued.   I've known Praxis longer than anyone, lived with her when she went days without sleep and even with that stress, she never lost her temper.  Become frustrated yes, but I wonder.  What in the Maker's name could you have possibly done to piss her off?"

Cullen kept his thoughts to himself raising a hand to cough, failing to hide a smile.  They thought he and Praxis were having some inane lover’s quarrel. 

Bull laughed to himself at the idea.  If she were some trollop, he could simply fuck her stupid and all would be forgiven.  Not only was that unlikely to work with Praxis, it was a cheap answer.  He cared about her and more importantly, how she regarded him to attempt that. 

Their first night together was more to him than a good fuck.  He will never forget the look in her eyes when he removed his eye patch to reveal the gnarled wound underneath.  There was a subtle change in her expression, he couldn’t label it, there was no name for it.  It was in that moment he felt she could see him, his strengths, flaws, mistakes, victories, everything and _still,_ she wanted him.  She wanted all of him, to connect with him as a person, a companion who has seen just as much fucked up shit as she had.  Over the years he’d learned to separate the warrior and the man in a tavern, with a fist full of ale.  Now, he found it with her.  She openly owned up to their relationship, Bull silently proud of her way of doing so.  She never implied he was a trophy or conquest, he was always a good man, a good friend first and foremost. Not that it mattered, he was fine either way, yet, Krem’s words rattled in his head.

_“With her, it was…different.  She accepted me.  She made me feel…like a man should.”_

“Bull.  A word if I may?”  Leliana may have been years removed from her time as a field agent, but it did not damper her ability to seek up and startle the shit out of people.  Both Dorian and Cullen jumped a bit at the sound of her voice.

“Sure thing.  Thanks for the help.”  He nodded his thanks as he departed, listening to them bicker like children over whether or not Dorian would ever admit to losing the last game.  Their voices faded away as he followed Leliana to a secluded corner of the gardens.  It was a good spot where sound didn’t travel and there were no balconies above or rooms nearby where someone could listen in unnoticed.

“You have been with her for over two weeks.  Have you been able to make a determination?”

“Hmm, I would have thought you would have come to a conclusion after she tried to blind the Chevalier.”  He folded his arms as he leaned back against the stone. 

“I have, but it never hurts to follow through on other sources.  You have the rare opportunity to see her when she is the least guarded in her manners.” 

“The quick answer is that she cares about the Inquisition’s people.  She’s spent most of her time getting the Inquisition the best armor, weapons, and supplies.”

“But does she care about the Inquisition itself?”

Bull scrapped one of his horns against the stone to attack a nagging itch.  “She’s not one to fight for ideals, she’s done that before and been burned.  At the end of the day, she will protect her people, even if it means sacrificing some of the Inquisition’s objectives.  I’m certain that nothing shy of her own people finding a way to reclaim her would have her turn against any of the Inquisition members.  I don’t know for certain how strong her loyalty is to her homeland, so who’s to say?  That’s still an unknown.”

“With the amulet broken and her world entirely removed from the Fade, I doubt we will find ourselves in such a situation but, it is good to know, yes?”  She rocked on her heels as she thought.  “Hmm, I do not see any reason to keep her from traveling with us to the Winter Palace.  Since we are taking carriages, her injury will not be an issue.  Will you continue seeing her?”

“Oh, shit yeah.”  That was never in question. 

Leliana smiled, believing them to be starry-eyed lovers, just as Cullen and Dorian did.  Romance was a waste, a relationship built on the lies steaming from behavior dictated by the flowery words of novelists.  There were no such lies between them, secrets of course, but no lies.

Left with nothing else demanding his attention, Bull headed for the dungeons.  The dank smell brought back old memories, none of them welcome.  He approached the on duty guard.  “I’ve come to interrogate the prisoner.”

The guard hesitated, but cowed under Bull’s confidence, unlocking the cell and removing himself to the far side of the cellblock.  Xander sat in the corner, a bandage placed over his eyes to assist the healing process.  The latest report from the healers stated they were optimistic that his vision would be saved.  Pity.

Bull kneeled beside the disgraced man.  “You know who I am?”  Xander swallowed thickly, bobbing his head in poorly hidden fear.  Bull produced a dagger that he stabbed into the wooden chair between Xander’s legs. 

“You are going to tell me **exactly** what you said to the Commandant when you pinned her down last night.”  The blade edged closer and closer to the man’s crotch with each word.

“Every.  Fucking.  Word.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Orlais, minor fluff, major NSFW


	11. Nightmare (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: PTSD episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You both have a similar hurt and you never talk about it, yet as it swims inside you, the other knows how to catch it, removing it for a time before it finds its way back. It always finds its way back.” - Cole

Praxis had a quick lunch with Varric, before offering polite excuses and promising to continue their story exchange at another time.  Discovering common themes and storylines with the famed author became a fun game that tended to last hours if she wasn’t careful to watch the time.  Since the altercation with Xander two days ago, she passed off some of her duties and was able to take her time returning to the office.  She was going to have to finish reassigning work the following day anyway when the Inquisition left for the Winter Palace.  She’d already made plans, but she needed to double check them, evaluate the checklists once more before leaving.  She had to be absolutely certain everything was in order or else the trip would be a nightmare for her.

The advice from Josephine concerning the Great Game wasn’t too difficult to follow; be vague, never commit, and say as little as possible, especially when actually speaking.  Considering some of the horrible papers she’d turned in during college, bullshitting her way through an evening didn’t seem too difficult.   She stood at the bottom of the main stairs to the great hall, scanning her surroundings.  It was surprising how quickly she came to feel comfortable in this place.  It all felt like a deployment.  This was the fake home, a temporary assignment that would come to an end.  Keeping up that delusion helped to stamp down any homesickness.  Dorian said that he was still researching methods and experimenting with the amulet, but she knew better than to be too hopeful.   Still, pragmatism aside, her mind refused to accept this new world, separating it from her life back home, and labeling everything that happened here as ‘temporary’. 

Although she missed home, the easy lifestyle and  most of all, her family, there were things here that she would regret leaving behind.  Unconsciously, her feet brought her to the training ring.  The Chargers were doing paces, per the norm.  Only Cullen’s soldiers or the small handful of Templars who remained with the Inquisition used it during the freezing morning hours.  In the afternoon, the temperature rose to slightly above chilly.  Krem led the exercise in group formations.  The Iron Bull studied each person’s movement from the outside of the ring and also provided the ‘threat’ as needed.  There were some jovial comments here and there, but overall, the tone of the mercenary company held an air of concentration and focus.  Their lives depended on each of them being able to perform and trust that the person next to them would pull their weight in a fight. 

Praxis chose a spot next to Lace to watch the tirelessly practiced tactics.  The band had done them a million times but that never deterred a good fighter from going through them again.  Complacency is unforgiving and kills without a second thought. 

The effortlessly pretty dwarf offered a bright smile.  “Good afternoon, Commandant.”

Fuck, even her voice was a delight.  It was downright impossible to dislike her.  “Lace.  I’m glad I got to see you before you head out, Crestwood is it?”

“That’s right.  Afterward, we trek over the northern coast of Orlais to western part of the country, then wait for instructions to either return for resupply or press on.”  Lace was a natural born adventurer.  Praxis read reports of the miserable conditions in Crestwood but if anyone were talking with Lace about it, it may as well be as sunny as Val Royeaux.  Lace enjoyed seeing the world and never complained when she had to take a peek at its hairy butthole every now and again.

Thrusting her hand at Lace, Praxis wished her well.  “Safe travels.”  She pulled the scout in for a half hug over the shoulder to whisper.  “I mean it.  For him.”

Releasing her hold, Praxis grinned at the slight blush on Lace’s face.  “If you find any deep road entrances, I have a few merchants who’d pay a king’s ransom to know the location.”

Lace rolled her eyes.  “They’re always looking for easy money without realizing that most of the safe tunnels were plundered years ago.”  She sighed then shrugged a shoulder.  “I’ll let you know what we find if that’s a priority.”

“It isn’t, so there’s no need to go out of your way.”

The clang of steel and a wave of laughter drew their attention back to the ring.  The Bull was rubbing his ass after Krem had outmaneuvered him and struck a blow. 

“Don’t worry Chief, there’s still plenty of your ass left.  No one will know the difference.  Probably.”  Krem stood tall but the slump to his shoulders spoke to his exhaustion. 

“Hey!  You want me to kiss it and make it better?”  Praxis called out as she leaned on one of the rails.  The Bull turned and single-mindedly closed the distance between them, ignoring the remarks of his men. 

She hadn’t seen him for a few days, not since she asked him to leave in the healer’s quarter.  Xander’s words had rattled her.  When she turned to Krem for guidance, she instead discovered that the man hadn’t thought on the subject either. 

 _"Are you asking me if I think the Chief’d choose the Qun over us if it came to that?”_ _  
_

_No, we both know the answer to that.”_

_Kissing her temple, Krem answered with a pained whisper.  “Yeah, we know.  Just been ignoring it, at’s all.”_

Seeing the two of them getting along in the training yard left her thankful that she hadn’t ruined things between them inadvertently or permanently. 

“If you want to play healer, I have a few other injuries you could tend to.”  Bull leaned against the rails, bringing his head low, expecting.

“Where do you keep your wounded pride pray tell?”

“I’ll have to take my belt off to show you.” 

Wrapping a hand around his neck, she lowered her voice.  “That does sound exciting.” 

Kissing him, tasting the sweat and dust, was marvelous.  Jeers and protests from the Chargers broke them apart sooner than she wanted.  Searching the yard, Praxis discovered that Krem and Lace had been smarter, having retreated into privacy somewhere.

Her hand trailed down his arm.  “Walk with me.” 

The Bull racked the training weapons he’d been using, replacing them with his impressive maul which he strapped to his back with practiced ease.  Slipping her hand around his arm, locking her fingers together at his elbow, she guided him to the battlements that over looked the valley.  She stopped at one of the parapets beyond the well-worn trail of the watch.

Untwining her fingers, she stepped in front of him to lean back against the protective stone.  Even having a small distance between them still left her looking up at him.  “I want to thank you for allowing me some time alone.”

Bull crossed his arms over his chest.  “I talked to Xander.”

“Oh.”  Dismissing his possible methods of interrogation, she contemplated the implications.  He knew and judging by his calm façade, he agreed with Xander.  “Well, I suppose it sometimes takes an outsider to point out the obvious which we allow ourselves to be blind to.”

The Bull didn’t move a muscle, his eye unblinking. 

Studying his stoicism she wondered with some confusion.  “This doesn’t change anything does it?  Between us?”                                          

She was again met with silence, his eye examined her closely, her imagination ran wild at what she thought he might see there.  Given a few moments, he finally answered.  “I’ve spent the past two days helping Krem work through this.”  He slightly tilted his head to one side, scrutinizing every breath she took.  “He’s known me for years and I know that I’ve lost some of his trust.  And you are going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Well, of course it happened, but I don’t think it should change anything.  It’s purely hypothetical anyway.”

“But it could happen.”

“Jesus, The Bull."  She threw a hand up in the air in mild frustration.  "What do you think would happen if my people came here?”  Her hand rubbed at her tattooed arm, reminding her of the design beneath the fabric.  _Her_  people. 

His expression darkened.  The ceaseless breeze from the mountains felt colder.  Shaking her head in dismay, she knew he had no idea how bad it would be, but he at assumed correctly that it would be bad.  Hypothetical is the best place for that line of thought. 

Growling in frustration, Bull reached forward to roughly clasp her jaw, turning her head side to side.  It was aggressive, but she didn’t flinch away from him.  She doubted she could ever fear him.  “If the Qun demanded it  **bas** , I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Grabbing his belt, she jerked him close, their bodies pressed together.  “And should you ever be taken by my people, I promise to make  **your**  death as painless as possible.”

He huffed warm air over her face, vaguely resembling his namesake for a brief moment.  “Your people would call for my death?”

“Not any more than your Qun would call specifically for mine.  We both understand that we’re nothing more than casualties that got in the way of a larger objective.  We are nothing but tools to be used and discarded.”  It had to be the most fucked up conversation she’d ever had, but it was the truth.  They never had cause to lie to one another and there was no point in starting now.  Both knew that they were merely pawns of a greater scheme. 

A grin slowly grew on Bull’s face.  Another warm huff of breath.  “Hey, are you as turned on as I am right now?”      

“Oh, God yes.”  She locked her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to have her lips meet his.  She paused only long enough to get them both moving in the right direction.  “There’s a storage space in that tower, c’mon.”

As soon as she set foot in the tower, Bull shoved her in the room, stumbling into stacked furniture as he shut and barred the door behind him.  The small room was crammed from corner to corner with furniture.  Sunlight fought its way through the rubbish from the only window.  Given that there were no flat surfaces, not even enough space on the floor, Bull snatched her arm and spun her into the door.  His powerful hands clawed into her light armor and slid her back up the door to have their heads level.

Crushing his body against hers, she inhaled his sweaty musk and watched the disturbed dust in the room glitter in the sporadic rays of sunshine.  There was no space to move when he feasted on her mouth, her moans answering his growls.  God how she missed this.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, her hips rolled, looking for that well-known bulge she’d come to worship.  Her hands looped onto his harness, tugging down for leverage. 

“How would you kill me?”  It came out breathy, curious.

Bull coiled a hand loosely around her neck, then flicked his thumb forcefully across her jawline as a demonstration.  “Snapped neck.  Painless.”

Pulling herself up by his shoulders, she nibbled on his ear, giving a few sucks before whispering her promise.  “A bullet to the head.  Messy, but quick.”

A mercy.  A release.  Neither actually hoped for either outcome to happen, but having that knowledge, that comfort, that should the world turn any shittier, there would be mercy in the end.  A final release from duty.  Praxis laughed internally at the ridiculousness.  Their lives have been one brutal battle after another and  **this**  made sense.  It brought them closer than any flourished words from a sonnet ever could.  It was their vow to one another.

Slipping lower, she squeezed her legs tighter to finally find his swollen erection.  Her lungs burned and her body trembled in his arms and she was rewarded with his hissing intake of air. 

When he set her down, she faced the door as he loosened her trousers then used his foot to press them down to her ankles.  A quick kick and her feet were free to spread as wide as Bull forced her.  The rest of her uniform began to dig uncomfortably into her skin but all she could focus on was his hot cock throbbing, pressing against her ass, leaking. 

Her body burned from their combined heat.  A wet mouth and  hard teeth explored her legs, hindered by her uncontrolled shivers.  “Maker’s blood!  What do you do to me?”

“Anything I want.”  The cadence of his words was slow and delicious.  He bit harder into her calf, a delicate spot he found days ago. 

“ _Yes,_  fucking mark me.”  She kicked back, hitting his shoulder.  “Harder, dammit!”

He pushed off from her as he stood, sending her head banging against the wood.   “What have I told you about that sass?”

She stayed flat against the door, listening to fabric rustle and the clicking of metal that meant his belt was free.  Closing her eyes, she listened for the familiar sound of leather coiling in his hand to create a loop, then waited.  A distinct crack snapped through the room, the sting to her rump was vicious and he didn’t let up.  He wasn’t patient, or tender.  Not this time. 

Right, left, right, left.  One after the other, the welts formed quickly.  She would bruise purple from this.  When he stopped, he knelt to have his wet tongue lap up and down, surprisingly cool on her inflamed skin.  Spreading her cheeks wide, he spit on her tight rim, exploring the sensitive area with his thumb.  She bucked, trying to guide him in.

“You would like that wouldn’t you?”  A short, dark laugh then Bull backed off to give her one playful slap on the ass.  “Bend over and grab your ankles.”

It was easy enough, but as she bent over, her necklace fell from around her neck.  The position left her at the edge of falling over since she only had one working ankle for balance, so she ignored the loss for the moment.  Bull tested her wet folds before easing his way in, pushing agonizingly slow, reminding her that he was in control and would determine the pace.  His hand lay in the center of her back to keep her steady.  When he bottomed out, her body ached for him to move.  There were no ropes today, but she knew better than to let go. 

She could feel him rustling in his pockets, careful not to break their connection.  An ice cold liquid suddenly dripped down between her ass cheeks, caught by his thumb and then swirled over her tight hole.  Her stomach leaped at the thought, the idea building her anticipation. 

“Let’s see just how dirty you can be.”  Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, he massaged the entrance, coaxing her body to relax. 

The sensation seemed to shoot up her spine, slamming into the top of her skull.  It was intense and foreign.  No wonder Cullen had been so pleased the other night.  Keeping his thumb in place, The Bull dug the rest of his fingers into her plump flesh to push her forward and back, gliding her effortlessly over his cock, her body easily manipulated at the lack of balance.

A delectable thought jumped into her head.   _Oh my god, we need a swing._

She always felt full with him in her, but this time it was more than that.  The way he worked his thumb...it was…oh fuck it was amazing.  No wonder the Commander had begged.  

“More.  Please, fuck me!”

Bull played with the motions of his thumb, laughing at her but still keeping his volume low.  “Another time.  We need to build you up.”  Increasing the rhythm of his hips, he drove his prick deeper then slapped her thigh with his free hand.  “Oh, yes.  I will enjoy filling that fine ass of yours.”

Those words in his magic tenor, the exotic idea of him treating her so depravedly - all of it was exactly what she needed to hear.  The fantasy caused her orgasm to explode.  Her legs failed, making Bull catch her by the waist to finish out.  A few pounding thrusts and he dropped her to the floor.

Twisting with a surprising amount of grace in the small space, she swallowed him whole, sucking through his spurting orgasm.  Once he was spent, she grabbed his rear by snaking her hands between his legs, pushing him deep in her throat, her nose buried against a patch of short hair at the base of his abs. 

 _This is mine._   She wrapped her mouth tight around his softening member, leaving him shaking from the overstimulation.  She locked eyes with him as she slide her mouth to the tip of his cock, proud at the field of goose bumps across his chest.  

After Bull helped her to her feet, he pointed out the dropped necklace.  “I would have thought that as rich as Dorian claims your lands to be, that you wouldn’t have such a worthless trinket.  I assume it holds a special meaning for you?”  She handed over the oval made of cheap pressed tin for his inspection.

While she gave her explanation, she worked at putting her pants back on and righting her uniform.  “They’re called dog tags.  Two are issued for each military member.”

“ _Dog_  tags”  He grumbled the words with distaste before asking, “Where’s the other one?”

“It’s laced into my boot, just in case my head is lobbed off.  You know, shit happens so one’s a backup for the other.  In the event that the member is killed and still has both tags, then one stays with the body for identification and the other goes with the commanding officer in charge of repatriation.” 

“Repatriation?  You take your dead back to your homeland?”

“Of course.  It helps the family with the grieving process and it’s a culture thing, ‘no man left behind’.  People take comfort in the fact that even after death, every effort will be made to ensure they are sent home for their final resting place.”

Bull kept any further comment to himself, looking back at the simple item.  She watched him rub his thumb along the raised letters and numbers.  She pointed at each line to help clarify the meaning.  “This long number is me.  This is my blood type in the event I ever need more and this is my religious affiliation.”

“They give you a number once you join?”

“No, it’s given at birth, but it’s used prolifically when you’re in the military, records, medical, dental, basically everything.  Regular citizens hardly ever use theirs, usually only for job applications and a handful of interactions with the government.” 

She ducked her head to let Bull replace one of the few items that she kept from home.  Palming the metal oval, she wished happiness for her brother before tucking it underneath her collar.  Typically, she tried to avoid thinking of him.

“When I was growing up, my name was just a series of numbers.  We always gave each other nicknames under the Qun.”  With unbelievable warmth in his eye, he brushed his fingers along her cheek and down her neck to tug at the flimsy chain.  When he spoke, it was with defiance.  “ _My_  Spitfire.”

She pulled him close to possess his mouth with kisses that savored the moist and salty grit that still lingered from the training yard.  “ _My_  Iron Bull.”

Claiming each other by name was a reminder that they were not soulless numbers. Not today.

 

They met up again that night in The Bull’s room when they could enjoy each other with more space, time and plenty of toys.  He’d been serious when he mentioned working her up to be able to take him anally.  His gentle coaxing and quick humor made the whole process less stressful and actually left her anticipating their next session. 

Early that morning, Praxis had held a faint doubt before seeking him out that Bull might be reluctant to take her back so easily.  She’d dreaded the idea that she might have to explain her irritation at Xander, how the reliability of her memory sometimes frightened her, but he hadn’t asked.  He’d focused entirely on what Xander had said out of spite, which really wasn’t of any significance. 

_He is only loyal to the Qun.  He will betray you, he will watch you die if he doesn't kill you himself._

She sat in a chair by the window so she might see what she was doing in the early morning glow.  Bull was not a morning person.  She considered him as he slept, now sprawled out to cover the empty bed.  Bull slept with his head at the foot since the absence of a headboard gave his horns greater freedom to move.  With her hair pulled back thoughtlessly but her uniform worn with precision, she walked past the bed before leaving.  Unable to stop herself, she ran a hand along the length of one of his magnificent horns, he twitched to move away from her touch. 

Face down, Bull grumbled into the pillow.  “Don’t.  They’re itchy in the mornings.  Too damn cold.”

“Ah, you distracted me last night.”  Bull hummed with prideful satisfaction, the sound muffled by the fluff.  Praxis went to the side table where she’d set down her things before Bull had literally swept her off her feet and thrown her over his shoulder.  “With some help from Varric, I was able to get a case of this.”

The moment she popped the lid off the small tin, the smell had Bull leaping up to snatch the container out of her hands.  She wished she could take a picture of the gratitude that took over his features.  It was a better reaction than she had hoped for. 

“Horn balm!  Ah-haha!”  Before getting his hands greasy with the contents, he belatedly scooped her up for an appreciative face-sucking kiss, most likely sloppy on purpose to annoy her.  “Oh, my little Spitfire!  This.”  A gentler, more passionate kiss.  “Ah,  _this_  is perfect.  I might actually be able to tolerate those Orlesian idiots now.  Thank you.  I knew I kept you around for more than just that tasty ass of yours.”

He slapped her hard on the bottom before she made it out the door.  “Don’t forget I have nice tits too.  They're going to get lonely if you don't manage your time better.  I’ll see you this afternoon when we head out.  Are you riding or…riding?”  She wasn’t sure how to distinguish the difference between being in a carriage and riding a horse.

“I’ll be mounted as part of the guard for the Inquisitor’s carriage, but we’ll have his halla with us if he gets bored with being pampered.”

Praxis shut the door against the freezing breeze, thinking.  “Mmm, I’ll ask him this morning if he’d like some company.”

By now, Bull was massaging the balm liberally over both horns and the room began to smell like the cream.  It reminded her of smoked cedar.  “Do you two really spend each morning playing with one another’s hair?”

“Not every morning and we talk too.”

“Huh.  Yeah, about dirty stuff."  His lecherous grin was the epitome of envy.  "I’ve noticed the way he looks when he leaves your office.  A chantry sister walking out a whorehouse has greater composure than he does.  You know, if he gives you any good ideas, the polite thing to do is to share.” 

“Have no doubts on that account.  Actually you’ve already benefited from at least one of our conversations.”  At that, she pressed her lips to the palm of her hand and blew him a kiss.  She laughed unreservedly while shutting the door when his confused expression let her know he’d never seen the gesture before.

***

The ball was just as ridiculous as Cullen claimed it would be.  She stayed near the Commander per the plan, but it seemed that the two of them were a constant source of entertainment – Cullen for his good looks and she for her disinterest in the ‘impressive’ Orlesian culture. 

_Have  you ever seen such grandeur?_

_Have you ever seen so many people?_

_Our markets truly have no equal in Thedas!_

All remarks she avoided answering truthfully, but she didn’t hide her bored expression.  Halamshiral was nice…for Thedas, but she used to live in Vegas with over 600,000 residents, not to mention the massive influx of tourists.  Hell, she’d lived a year in New York City and it was, what, around eight million? 

She briefly thought about offering polite answers but was pinched by Leliana who spoke over her.  “Yes, she has travelled extensively and frankly has a greater repertoire with which to compare than most persons.  I’m afraid that the Commandant finds few things to be impressive.”

The challenge set, the rest of the night had her playing up the haughty world-traveler line.  Now and then she would catch a look of amusement on Leliana’s face whenever a particular noble became flustered and offended when Praxis was able to ‘one up’ anything he said about Orlais.  It wasn’t long before their bragging became information gathering.  While they attempted to impress her with their wealth and status, they unintentionally revealed alliances and hidden revenue streams. 

Following the chaos of the assassination attempt, Praxis retreated to her assigned quarters in the guest wing.  She made use of the provided desk to write down all that she could remember from the night.  It was comforting to know that the entire hall was designated for the Inquisition’s use.  She skimmed through her notes, checking for any omissions three times.  Taking a deep breath, she set the notes aside and began a tour of the large room.  She’d asked for smaller, but it would have relocated her to another wing.

She slowly paced the room.  Her hands touched every piece of furniture, every drape, even held every trinket set out on display.  Each object she gave a home,  _this belongs here, this belongs here._   She’d made her circuit four times when Bull let himself in the room.  It wasn’t enough time, not for this size room.

Earlier, he'd traded his formal wear for his heavy armor, war paint decorated his face.  She was glad to see him, but he jerked his head away from her embrace, pushing her back like an errant child.  "Are you crazy?  I'm wearing vitaar, don't you know how deadly it is?"

Deadpan she answered plainly.  "No.  I've never seen anything like it.  How would I know to fear it?"

"Good point.”  Praxis took a seat to watch him change out of his armor.  “We're going to have to work on that."

She watched in interest how the vitaar was removed from his skin, a multi-step process which required the use of a mirror.  The fighting had been a few hours ago, the blood that covered everything The Bull wore was completely dried.  When the pieces of armor came off, he rubbed and massaged muscles that had preserved the Inquisitor and his team.  “Do you always manage to get between the Inquisitor and danger?  By the looks of it, you took  the brunt of the action.”

Playfully tossing his smalls at her, the endearing Qunari pulled her up out of the overstuffed chair.  “When I’m with the Boss’ team, I am the frontline bodyguard.  Damn elf can make it difficult at times the way he can move around a battle field, but usually by the time he’s able to do that, I’ve already taken out the larger threats.”  Steady hands began to unfasten the buttons of her formalwear that was identical to the one he wore earlier.  “You have nothing to worry about, I’ll keep your boyfriend safe.”

She exhaled a short laugh.  “Fierce bodyguard and exquisite lover.  How did I get so lucky?”

Humming his approval at her praise, The Bull plucked her off the ground to toss her on the bed, his eye following the way her freed breasts bounced as she landed.  In the beginning of their arrangement, she thought that the mercenary was only interested in sex and possible would continue to see others on the side.  Rumors grew the longer they carried on their sessions that he wasn’t seeing anyone else, much to a few person’s disappointment.  Praxis wasn’t blind to the fact that they were something more than a casual fuck, but she was surprised that he treated them as exclusive. 

Watching him happily rip the hideous trousers off her hips, she could see that he wanted sex.  Not because he needed some shallow release.  It was there because he wanted it, from her.  It was in this moment she realized that she felt the same way, she needed it to be him.   

An out of place object in the room caught her eye, distracting her from Bull’s attentive hands.  Staring across the room, she focused on the ewer Bull used earlier.  He moved it, a different side faced her now and she needed to remember that. 

He must have sensed that something was bothering her.  “Has it been awhile since you’ve seen bloodshed?”

Looking in the area of the offending object, she saw the pile of armor he left on the floor.  He must have thought she was staring at it instead.  Praxis had been in the ballroom when all Hell broke loose.  The fighting had been bloody, but swords were not nearly as stomach churning as grenades or land mines. 

It was an incorrect guess, but it wasn’t too far from the mark.  “Please stay.  I don’t want to be alone.”

One hand on her cheek, the other around her back, she felt surrounded by strength, a barrier.  God, please let him keep nightmare at bay.  As he held her, she weakened further, letting him take over.  A kiss, then she was in his arms again while he tugged the bedding open.  Once the two of them were sinking in the opulent bed, she wrapped herself around his hard body, desperately seeking something familiar.  Her head rested on his chest, enjoying the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“Something you want to talk about?”  He was genuinely concerned and that alone helped her to relax. 

_He’s here.  Everything is going to be fine._

“No.”  She said it quickly, quietly.  Thankfully, Bull caught the hint and didn’t probe her any further.  She hugged her body tighter to his, hoping he would be enough to keep the nightmare away.

 

 

_Praxis lay in the dark listening.  There were no sounds of the regular patrols.  Opening her eyes, the pitch black meant that they were in blackout conditions.  The silence also meant the helicopters weren’t doing any runs._

_She sat up suddenly, voices coming to her.  She couldn’t make out the words but she understood their accusations._

_negligent – forgetful – broken_

_It was happening again.  Fear took control._

_What was she supposed to be doing?  She was missing out, messing up.  Where did she need to be?_

_A body moved in the bed.  She looked at him, searching her mind for his face.  Nothing.  Who is this?  Taking stock of her naked state, her fear intensified.  Did we do something?  I can’t remember._

_Each breath of air became thicker.  The sheets were constrictive and impossible to get out of._

“Praxis?”

_Spinning around to face the man, his name still unknown._

_“Who?”_

“What’s wrong?”

_“Get away.  Don’t you fucking touch me!  Where’s The Iron Bull?”_

_The Iron Bull.  Yes.  There was something she needed to do.  They were here for a reason.  He would know, he remembered everything._

“Praxis.  I need you to listen to me.”

_“Get away from me!”_

_She scrambled out of the bed and put distance between them.  Walking backward, she stumbled over a piece of furniture.  What is this room?  Why wasn’t she in Skyhold?_

_She could no longer breathe through her nose, taking gulping breaths through her mouth, she sank to the floor trying to ground herself._

_I’m drowning._

_A weight fell over her that enveloped her entire body.  There was no water but she was drowning.  A steady pressure built, pressing against her mercilessly._

_“I’m drowning.”_

_The man moved closer.  She moved further._

_“What have you done with him?  Where’s The Iron Bull?  Where is he?”_

“Praxis, look at me.  I am The Iron Bull.”

_His words made no sense.  His face continued to draw a blank._

_I’m drowning.  I’m drowning.  I’m drowning._

_Make it stop._

_Was the man listening anymore?_

_Her mind reached out, looking for something…there.  Mentally, she grabbed ahold of something tangible and **pulled**._

 

 

A pained scream came from the Inquisitor's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are countless forms that PTSD can take. From mild reactions such as Cullen's gut wrenching at the sound of a trebuchet, to Praxis' incoherent outburst. Some get better over time, some only fade. It isn't always the cinematic flashbacks used in movies.
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> Up Next: Dorian x Lavellan. The viewpoint from the Inquisitor's bedroom.


	12. A Dance from Dorian (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics can be exhausting and nothing beats some private entertainment for the Inquisitor.  
> Members of the Inquisition become divided on their opinions of keeping Praxis with the Inquisition.
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> Random art because I just love [these two](http://sixlilypetals.tumblr.com/post/132046092839/pixiemixieheart-here-it-is-all-cleaned-up)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably could have been two chapters, but I'm excited to get to the fun bits which start in the next chapter.
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>  
> 
> Many thanks to TwistedCupid for finding this amazing [fire dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GaspF7gW4tU%20)

It was just the two of them in the lavish bedroom provided by the Empress, naked, and enjoying the warmth of the low burning fire after they had toweled off. 

“My, how I do love seducing you out of every stitch of clothing.”

Mahanon nudged him with an amused smirk.  “Dorian, we just bathed.  There really wasn’t much seducing on your behalf.”

“Well then, I suppose I need to make up for lost time.”  Surveying his lover, Dorian believed he could never tire of looking at him.  The night won, the masses pleased, he was thankful that everyone was too preoccupied with their own celebrations to note when the Inquisitor slinked off with his prized Tevinter.  Dorian tilted Mahanon’s head to expose underside of his jaw, kissing a delicate trail up and around to the base of his enchanting ear, reveling in the sweet purrs that rumbled beneath his lips. 

_Of course, I am one damn fine prize._

“What was that?”

A small jolt had Dorian pull away at the unexpected question.  He regarded his Amatus with confusion.  Mahanon’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he lightly rubbed Dorian on the shoulders.  “Just now, did you call yourself a prize?”

“Oh, dear.  It seems that I am quite terrible at internal monologue.”  At first, Dorian rolled his eyes in an attempt to brush the comment aside, but Mahanon squeezed him excitedly.

“You are a prize and all mine to be exact.”  The Inquisitor offered a few kisses in a manner that Dorian instantly recognized as a means to soften one up.  He’d engaged in the practice far too often in his past to keep lovers returning to his side to miss the subtle hint.

“Amatus.  If you have need of something, simply say it.  Although, I will not turn away praise or gifts.  Chocolate and brandy go quite well together.”  Dorian nuzzled his nose across the edge of Mahanon’s long ear.  The soft pleasing noises that the gorgeous elf made were to die for.  “Whatever you need.  Whatever you want.  You have but to ask.”

“I…”  Shying away and putting a small amount of space between them, Mahanon took a few steading breaths.  Trying to shake off his nerves, he began to use his hands to express his frustration, gesturing as he spoke.  “I often feel emasculated whenever the Inquisition has to cater to worthless nobles who send true men to fight their battles.” 

His gentle fingers caressed Dorian’s cheek when he spoke ‘true men’.  The strength of affection and pride in Mahanon’s eyes was nearly unbearable.  This magnificent, indomitable paradigm believed Dorian’s character superior to all others. 

_Yes, this man can have anything that is in my power to give._

“In my clan, there were no games.  Only clear declarations.  For once, I want to give commands and have them obeyed.  No nice talk, no debates, no diplomatic undertones.  I’m tired of having to fight battles with kindness.”

Dorian felt a small tremor escape his Amatus’ fingertips.  “Is this your way of saying you wish to boss me around?  That sounds exciting – different.”  He chuckled, delighted that Mahanon was trusting him with such a fantasy.  Regarding him intensely, Dorian could tell that Mahanon still held some reservations about Dorian’s willingness.

“Amatus.”  Grabbing his hips, Dorian turned the handsome elf to face him, flashing a devilish grin that Dorian hoped would sweep him up in the playfulness.  “What would you have your Tevinter do for you, _Master Lavellan_?”

A depraved smile spread across Mahanon’s face.  Dorian wished he could peer inside his mind to know what wicked debauchery he had planned.  “Alright.”  The Inquisitor’s voice was firm and authoritative.  “You will do as I say.  No complaints, no back talk.  Think you can handle that?”

“Anything for you Amatus.  Shall I be your pet?”  Dorian nudged his face against Mahanon’s shoulder, much like a fawning animal.  “A Tevinter trophy that follows you about.  My how the nobles shall envy you.  We may even set a trend!  Soon we’ll find my countrymen becoming fashionable, one hanging off the arm of every plump duchess and pompous duke in Orlais.  ‘Have you brought your Vint?’  ‘Why yes, this is the newest arrival, but lo – weep at how he pales in comparison to the Inquisitor’s Vint.  Oh the agony of knowing we can never be so grand!’.”

Turning away, doubled over with laughter, Mahanon had to take a moment to excise his giddiness.  With amusement still plastered to his face, he chided Dorian with a push to the shoulder.  “This doesn’t work if you make me laugh, you stupid shem.”

Pressing his hands flat together at his waist, Dorian gave a slight bow, assuming some measure of seriousness.  “I shall endeavor to be the epitome of subservience.”

“ **You will be silent!** ”  The words boomed from Mahanon’s chest like a war cry.

Dorian had never seen him like this and it was instantly intoxicating.  The Inquisitor prowled around him with a stern gaze.  He felt like a fennec cornered by a hungry wolf.  Mahanon picked up a long curtain cord as he walked, his intent to use it on Dorian clear.

 _Oh, so we’re going there are we?_ Dorian tried to catch a disbelieving giggle in his fingers before he felt a sharp sting slash across the backs of his legs.  The surprise sent him to his knees on the soft carpeting.

“What was that?”  The crisp voice was stern, commanding.  So fuckably delicious. 

“Apologies…Master Lavellan.”  Thin delicate fingers ghosted across Dorian’s shoulders then suddenly jerked his skull backward painfully.  He yelped.

“Filthy Tevinter.  I will teach you your proper place.”

A twisted silk cord was wrapped loosely around Dorian’s neck, the free end was lazily fingered by those skillful, tantalizing fingers.  Long legs walked past him, lean muscle, beautiful calves, all topped off with the most glorious ass he could possibly concede was more tempting than his own.  Saliva pooled in his mouth.  Letting his hands fall to the ground in front of his knees, Dorian wanted to please him, wanted him to smile, to invite, to caress.  Maker, he’d bark if it meant he could feel those fingers again. 

Dorian’s eyes followed his leash to where the elf melted into a plush chair, one leg hung over the arm rest.  Licking his lips, Dorian could only imagine the Inquisitor’s smile since his gaze locked in on the wide open view of Mahanon’s partially aroused cock.  A tremble rolled through him.

Mahanon’s voice taunted.  “Say please.”

“Please, Master Lavellan.”

Those lovely fingers tapped on Mahanon’s cheek while Dorian’s mind thought of how those slim digits could glide and swirl perfectly within, forcing him to scream, squirm, beg.

“Master Lavellan, please instruct me.  I desire only your pleasure.”

“Crawl to me, _Altus_.”  The Inquisitor dipped his head to his chest with a sinful smile, delighting in seeing the Altus on hands and knees crossing over to him.  Dorian didn’t complain, he didn’t even wince. 

Stopping when he reached the Inquisitor’s chair, he stared at his desired prize, eyes sparkling when Mahanon made his thick erection twitch.  “Show me you want it.”

Dorian cradled Mahanon’s raised foot in his hands, kissing his toes, his ankle, letting his perfect mustache tease along the soft elven skin.  His words were pure poetry, pleading and praising all at once.  The attention began to climb up the Inquisitor’s leg, inching closer to his goal.  This caused the elf’s hand to snatch the mage’s hair once more to pull him away.

“I have not told you that you were done.  Are you trying to cheat?”

“Yes, Master Lavellan.”  There was no point lying.

“I may need to punish you later, perhaps on the throne in the great hall.”  Mahanon loosened his grip to thread his fingers through Dorian’s hair, ruffling it free from the distinct Tevinter style.  “On the floor.”

Lying with his back flat, the silken threading of the carpet was thick enough that it wasn’t too uncomfortable.  Starting at his feet, Mahanon walked up Dorian’s body, his steps landing on either side of his toned frame, his feet skimming along delicate areas with each stride.  The last step landed on Dorian’s chest, pressing dominatingly.  “You are nothing but my fuck toy.”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready for me?”

“ _Fuck yes!_ ”

Mahanon twisted and knelt over Dorian’s face, before leaning down to all fours in a classic sixty-nine.  “Be a good little Vint.”  He swished his hips to have his engorged member tap Dorian’s cheek.  “Open up and suck me.”

Dorian’s heart danced at the command, but a thought hit him.  “Ah, well my dear Master Lavellan, I must point out to you that I can’t move my head lying like this.”

Mahanon, sniffed an amused laugh.  “That’s the point.”

Mahanon adjusted his stance to plunge into Dorain’s mouth, playing with his movements and depth while giving Dorian time to adjust to the arrangement.  Mahanon was considerate, setting a predictable and slow pace.  Whenever he sucked in a breath, Dorian knew he was going to go for the back of the throat. 

Tantalizing elven lips explored all around Dorian’s ribs, the tops of his thighs, floating through the dusting of hair down the center of his abs, each caress causing him to moan with a full mouth.  It was torture.  Dorian sucked and licked as his mind tried to encourage his lover to do the same to him, but it never happened.  Bucking encouraged nothing, grasping his hips proved fruitless and Dorian was soon whining and squirming while Mahanon tenderly caressed everything but his aching package.  The throbbing was becoming painful, made worse by his lover’s neglect.  Dorian tried to express his frustration with a smack to the ribs, since his mouth was impaled to point words were impossible.  This only led to Mahanon snagging his wrists and pinning him down.

“You arrogant shem, how dare you!”  Surging deep and holding it there, Dorian was punished.  “You will take only what I give you.”

When he withdrew, Dorian gasped for air with a few coughs then watched as Mahanon flipped over his body to land standing at Dorian’s feet with agility that could only be breed by the Dalish.  Amazingly, he still held the makeshift leash.

“I was going to fuck you, but now you’ll have to earn it.”  A soft tug on the cord instructed Dorian to stand.  “Dance for me.”

Judging by the smug look on Mahanon’s face, Dorian supposed that the cocky little elf expected to get a rise out of Dorian.  Humiliate the prideful Tevinter for his amusement.  Instead, there was a flicker of surprise when Dorian grinned in turn, keen to comply.  “For your pleasure, _Master Lavellan._ ”   

As a young teen learning how to wield a staff with graceful purpose, Dorian was required to take dance lessons, which were taught by imported Dalish slaves.  Flourishes and footwork were meant to look powerful, intimidating, and serve as memory aids for spell casting.  Traditional Tevinter dance elements were also incorporated so that the fundamentals could be built upon for formal affairs once they were adults.  However, Dorian had been fascinated by the way the Dalish movements were so fluid, unlike the stifled ones in Tevinter dances.  He made time for additional lessons with the instructor, Othu, to learn more in the Dalish style.  He’d studied the man’s movements, the way the muscles flexed, held, and pushed his body into movements that stole a man’s breath away.  Othu was frankly Dorian’s only exposure to the Dalish culture, which was to say specifically, how open the Dalish were about their bodies.  When Dorian shyly asked about other genres, his face hot, but mind determined, Othu hardly twitched an ear at the request. 

That was when Dorian learned the dance of **lath enansal**.  Othu had treated it so indifferently, appreciating at how Dorian admired the art in it, neither of them ever imagining that Dorian would, later in life, perform the sensual feast for the eyes for his beloved Amatus.  This one was special.  The initiating dancer began the dance in order to invite a partner to join them, to bond with them.  It was only after Dorian had mastered it, as well as a few others, that Othu revealed the translation of the name: love’s blessing.  The instructor informed him that even the wild Dalish couldn’t escape meddling parents desperate for offspring.  Arranged bondings were common, but sometimes, love prevailed.

For Dorian, this was a risk.  If Mahanon didn’t join him, he could easily laugh it off, saying he knew nothing of the custom and simply thought it pretty.  Although, he knew that would not lessen the acidic burn of rejection that would dissolve his heart into a bitter bile that he would have to swallow in silence as he continued to work with a man who did not return his affections. 

Mahanon remained insolently sprawled in the same chair as earlier, trying to hide his curiosity behind a mask of condescension, playing a part.  After pushing a few pieces of furniture aside, Dorian donned his smalls and tossed the leash next to Mahanon’s chair.  He took his mark in the center of a silk woven carpet in front of the fireplace. 

Taking a deep breath, Dorian allowed himself a small smile as his mind instinctively recalled the meter of Othu’s metronome.  Both feet together, he opened the dance with a bounce.  Right foot landing in front of the left while his eyes followed the twisting motion of his left hand as it extended up over his head.  His right arm created a cradle shape across his chest. 

A gasp pierced through the silence, then a quiet whisper _“Impossible…”_

The distinctive opening did not escape Mahanon’s notice and Dorian briefly questioned his resolve, but that was quickly stamped down as he refused to look the fool.  There weren’t any long pauses in this dance.  All of the movements flowed effortlessly into the next, which was a difficulty that had taken months to overcome. 

He stood at the edge of the rug to one side of the room, ready to test his body for the most demanding segment.  Jumping straight up in the air, he spun in a full rotation, his arms circling him.  Landing, he sprung back up into a leap that led into a second jumping whirl, but this one was higher with two full rotations of the body.  He landed on one foot while the other carried his momentum into the next position, from which he bounded across the room, his legs splitting wide in mid-air.  The final leap kicked his left leg up forward, his right tucking underneath and his arms poised swinging gracefully over his head as he practically flew through the air.  The arcs, lines, and swirls of each movement were emphasized by the smoky veilfire he cast to trail behind his hands and feet.  The ethereal green glow only lasted a few moments behind him, but it was enough to add to the aesthetic appeal.

Feeling breathless already, he hid the exhaustion with practiced breaths, Othu’s voice clear in his head. 

_You should feel short of breath and absolutely ruined, completely worked over.  Make it look naturally easy, effortless, as if your body weighs nothing.  This is art.  Make it worth seeing._

Now that he had a sense of the space, he closed his eyes and Dorian surrendered himself to the dance. Nothing else compared to the rush he experienced when dancing.  Relaxed, he chose to deviate from the exact regime he was taught, he added his own flair, becoming lost in the moment and taking advantage of the opportunity to express himself freely.  Cupped hands transformed into expressive fingers that dominoed and curled, enhancing the potency of his magic.  The veilfire smoke trails changed color to a distinctive purple hue.  He slowed some of the transitions and sped up others, creating his own tempo.  The level of precision he executed was flawless and it filled him with life to know he was creating something beautiful, something special and unique, that only he and Mahanon would share.

_It’s never one movement, then another.  It is all chained together to form one masterpiece._

Aware of what his whole body was doing, Dorian’s fine sense of coordination and timing blended all the pieces together.  He knew which moves accentuated his flexibility, which highlighted certain muscles groups and he ensured that for those, he flexed a little more than necessary.  He was not about to let his nakedness go to waste.  For the first time in his life, he felt on display, exposing his true self and all that he was.

His portion drew to a close.  Back at the starting position, one arm raised, one pressed against his midsection.  Dorian lifted his head before opening his eyes to focus on the limp fingertips above him.  He couldn’t see if Mahanon was still interested or even if he had fled the room.  Slowly, he lowered his raised arm to cross over his body and brush his right shoulder.  It swept it front of him, finally extending his hand as an invitation for his lover to join him.    

Life, at times, can be cruel.  It was only a few seconds to execute the motion and yet, to Dorian it was a lifetime worth of fear.  He’d never felt so vulnerable, so fragile as he did now.  It was crushing and he dreaded that the feeling would never leave.  Time seemed to drag on for an eternity.  When his hand stilled in the finishing position, Dorian’s eyes darted up to discover his fate.

 A wondrous joy bloomed explosively within him and in that moment he steadfastly believed his Amatus to be a gift from the Maker.  Mahanon did not hesitate to rush him.  Dorian knew what to expect and adjusted his stance to catch him after he took a vaulting leap into his arms with the grace of a halla.  Dorian laughed aloud at his lover’s explicit enthusiasm.  He had the man of his dreams wrapped around his body and nothing else in the whole of Thedas mattered. 

Mahanon had to guide Dorian through the second part of the dance since he hadn’t done the paces since his time with Othu.  Even Dorian’s sharp mind was put to task to rapidly replicate the intricate movements in tandem with his love.  His hands read his partner’s shifting muscles, helping him anticipate what came next.  Dorian’s form faltered and his elbows dropped, but it didn’t matter.  It was hypnotic to become so entangled with another person, to have their bodies moving smoothly together. 

Thankfully the second part was much shorter, most likely by design with the expectation that the couple would rather move on to more primal activities.  The **lath enasal** ended, but they continued to hold each other, their chests heaving in time, hands caressing damp skin.

“I can’t imagine you exercising the discipline necessary to learn that.”

Earlier, Mahanon had hastily tied his hair back after the bath, but Dorian still combed his fingers through the loose braid.  “I can be quite obedient when given proper motivation.”

“Dorian.”  Suddenly serious, Mahanon held him close to keep their eyes locked.  “Do you know what that was?  What it means?”

The intensity between them was palpable.  For Mahanon, this was not something he took lightly and looking into his deep emerald eyes, Dorian knew that neither did he.  “I am yours.” 

“And I yours.”  Mahanon, ducked his head to hastily blink away a thin line of water from his eyes.

Once composed, he caressed Dorian’s cheek before gifting him with a loving kiss.  “ **Vehnan**.  I must have you.  **_Isalan hima sa i’na._** ”

Dorian couldn’t keep from a coy smirk from his lips. “Is that a command Master Lavellan?” 

Laughing at his slip in their play, Mahnon clapped his hands on Dorian’s shoulders to wheel him around and plant a firm slap on his ass.  “Yes.  On the bed, you desire demon.”

Dorian jumped on the bed to lay on his side, propping his torso up by an elbow and letting his other arm lay seductively at his hip.  He knew by the darkening of the elf’s eyes that his best ‘come hither’ pose was indeed working. 

“Don’t you look overly pleased with yourself.”  Mahanon assumed the air of a predator, donning it like a favored glove.  It was glorious.  “You seem to have ignored a critical mistake from your little display.” 

As Mahanon approached, he deliberately showed Dorian that he still had the silk cord from earlier by stretching it menacingly between his hands.  The action sent a flutter of apprehension through him, _mistake?_   Standing by the bed, the Inquisitor roughly grabbed Dorian by the knee to twist him around so he sat on the edge of the bed.  Mahanon snorted wickedly.  “Now I know just how flexible you really are.”

Dorian followed the lead of his Amatus and laid back.  He let Mahanon guide his legs to rest by his sides to form a wide V.  Dorian cried out in delight when those nimble little fingers fanned his ass cheeks out and a warm tongue licked up the middle. 

“Hmm, oh yes, I do love how this puts you on display.  So beautiful.  Can you stay like this for me?”

“Yes, Amatus - _Master_!  Please don’t stop!”

Mahanon slapped hard on Dorian’s inner thigh, frighteningly close to his ball sac, causing his legs to flinch.  “I don’t believe you.” 

Before Dorian could offer any platitudes, his lover was crawling over him to tie the silk cord around his knee, then snaked it behind his back before anchoring the loose end on his other knee. 

The Inquisitor leaned back to admire his work, rubbing his hands up and down Dorian’s pinned thighs, his eyes slicked over the rest of the mage’s toned body.  “All of this is for my enjoyment, my pleasure.”

Slowly lowering his head toward Dorian’s hard cock, he parted his lips.  Dorian forgot how to breathe.  A lovely elven tongue peeked out, salvia dripping from it, almost…almost…then the wet muscle landed on Dorian’s stomach, just missing his cock head, which only felt a faint brush of Mahanon’s chin. 

Gritting his teeth, Dorian’s frustrated growl turned into a whimper as Mahanon blazed a moist trail up his chest while laying his body on top of him.  The magical elvhen purr that came from his lover’s throat shot straight through Dorian’s aching arousal.  This far into their relationship, anytime he heard it, he knew that Mahanon was immensely excited and sex was inevitable.  His body responded automatically.  Once Mahanon reached the top of Dorian’s neck, he began to nip at the sides and breathed hot and heavy against his skin. 

“Do you want my dick in you, my dirty little pet?”  Fingers massaged lovely circles around Dorian’s entrance.

“Please, I need it.”  He needed the light touches to be harder, needed that mouth all over his body.

Two fingers surged into him.  A jolt shot through Dorian’s body.  He recognized the unique oil he’d found in the market earlier.  A special mixture that would heat and cool at random times to increase the intensity of their intimacy.  He reached to touch himself but Mahanon swatted his hand away.

“Are you going to make me tie up your hands as well?”

“No, Master Lavellan.”

“Don’t touch yourself.  Keep your hands on your legs.”

Obediently, Dorian instantly clasped his hands round his calves.  The two fingers played their little dance inside Dorian.  Mahanon peppered the base of his sac with sucking kisses and occasionally rolling his balls around his tongue.  It was more but it wasn’t enough.

“ **Futuos!** Fuck me, I need it please.”

“So insolent and demanding.”  Despite how chiding his words sounded, Mahanon backed off and let Dorian watch as Mahanon slicked his own cock with long, slow strokes.  “Is this what you need?”

“Yes!  Yes!  Give it to me!” A sweating, hog-tied mess, Dorian didn’t care how inelegant he sounded. 

His body squeezed around Mahanon as he eased himself in, slowly accepting his girth.  He stopped to seat himself, wiggling a bit and taking pleasure in seeing the contented expressions on Dorian’s face.  Bracing his hands on Dorian’s thighs, he rocked in and out at a tortuously steady pace.  It was wonderful and fulfilling but _not enough!_

“Oh, look at it Vehnan.”  Directing their attention to Dorian’s hot, swollen cock, by the Maker, it had even darkened in color under the strain.  “I want to put it in my mouth, sucking it until it spills down my throat.” 

Mahanon  pulled out of Dorian to lean over his aching member.  His lips were so close, his breath sent chills through his spine, then understanding crashed on Dorian like a maul.  He couldn’t buck.  He couldn’t move in any way to get what he desperately needed.  “I hate you!  I fucking hate you, you son-of-a-bitch!”

A single lick wrenched a cry from Dorian before he resorted to begging between sobs, his voice utterly broken.  “P-please, A-Amatus.  I can’t, I can’t take it anymore, I’m dying.”

“Must you over dramatize everything?”  There was no time for a response as Mahnon swallowed him whole, so impossibly deep that his chin pressed against Dorian’s sac.

Rapture!  Dorian felt as if his mind exploded as red flashes and stars sparkled in his vision.  _Yes, yes, fuck yes…no, no, nonono!_

Only a few deep sucks and Mahanon was back on his knees, looming over Dorian.  “You are mine and I’m going to fuck the cum out of you.” 

Slamming home, Mahanon bared his teeth in a devilish smile as he watched Dorian scream in abandon.  He fucked him mercilessly.  New sounds erupted from  Dorian when his elven lover finally palmed his cock, letting the rhythm of their rutting pump him to completion and Mahanon following soon after.  They gazed adoringly at each other, short of breath, absolutely ruined, and completely worked over.  It was a moment of perfection.   _  
_

Tirelessly spent, Mahanon did find some energy to pull the quick release on Dorian’s ties to free his legs before collapsing on the bed.  His labored breathing pulsed against Dorian as the handsome elf curled himself against the mage. 

After his use of magic for the dance, the room held a faint aura that hummed and floated like a fog within the room.  The easiest way to cleanse the room of the residual energy was to simply light it on fire in a manner of speaking.  Sparks crackled through the room like a lightning storm, igniting the remaining aura that burned out in a flash.  Everything in the world was wonderful and right.  He felt dizzy from elation.

The dizziness increased.  The room started to feel as if the walls were moving away from him.

“Dorian?  Are you alright, you look sick.”

“I…”  He tried to stand, but the floor fell out from under him

No, he fell to the ground, his arms never attempting to save him from the blunt force of the marble floor.  _Cursed Maker, I’ll probably have a bruise from that._

“Dorian!”  Mahanon knelt next to beside him.  His hands moved Dorian’s body but the mage couldn’t feel them.  He tried to watch, to focus on what Mahanon was doing but it became impossible as he felt another tug pull at his insides.

It  began small, but grew rapidly.  After a few moments, he recognized the debilitating action.  His mind was furiously giving commands to his arms, legs, mouth, none of them obeyed. 

His distress must have been evident as the Inquisitor’s worry intensified.  “Please!  Vehnan, what do I do?  What is wrong?!”

The pull spread in his chest, hooks snagging into his ribs and organs.  This time his body did react.  Curling into a ball he tried to stifle his scream.  Mahanon clutched Dorian’s face, holding it steady to examine any signs the mage could offer.

“Tell me!  What do I do?!”  Such an optimistic man of action.  The Maker doesn’t create such rare beauties every day and somehow, this one belonged to Dorian.  Funny how the mind works under stress.

“Praxis.”

“Praxis?”  Dorian kept his eyes shut to confirm the correct guess, although now it was mostly to attempt to keep the pain in check.  “She’s doing this?  By the Dread Wolf…”

Dorian never noted when the Inquisitor rushed from the room, his mind too occupied with preserving his pride and Mahanon’s reputation, entirely resolute on not screaming again for the whole of Orlais to hear.  Hopefully he wouldn’t die before the Inquisitor returned. 

***

“Sunset.  I need you to focus.  Look at me, I am the Iron Bull.”  Using her given name had no effect either. 

"I would remember, I would know..."

The Inquisitor rushed in, tying the string to his linen trousers.  "Praxis what are you doing?  Dorian is writhing on the floor in agony, please you have to stop this!"

The shouting did not make things better.  Bull kept his calm and redirected the Inquisitor.  “Get Cullen.”

Leaving Praxis sitting on the floor clutching her head, Bull searched the desk.  Back at Skyhold she always read her notes before their sessions and first thing in the morning.  He remembered every detail of the night, but he assumed that she would need to hear it in her own words.

Mahanon returned with Cullen who was also hastily dressed.  "I'm going back to Dorian, whatever you’re going to do, please be quick."

Cullen cautiously approached her.  "Praxis?  It's Cullen.  Do you remember how to concentrate on the waves?  Calm your thoughts, calm your actions..."

"Where's My Iron Bull?  What have you done with him?"  Tears began to well in her eyes, it was jarring and unnatural to witness.

Cullen stared up at Bull confused.  "She looks right through me, probably doesn’t recognize you either.  Here, try reading her notes back to her."

The notes where done in a short hand that Bull partially knew, but he gave them to Cullen since he read her missives every day.  Mechanically, the Commander read off the names of each person she met, details on the conversations, observations, and association with the Inquisition. 

Listening, rocking, she eventually began to mumble along with him, recalling her own writing.  Once she looked calm, Bull chanced speaking to her.  "Spitfire."

She flinched, stared, her eyes looking through him, confusion still hindering her judgment.  He waited, crouching low with slow, steady movements.  Her gaze found his hands and grabbed hold.  Something about his hands jarred her from her trance.  "The Bull?"

At the hint of recognition, he grappled her with force, wrapping her up into his chest.  Every muscle in her body was taut, her skin cold and damp. 

Speaking softly, he transferred her attention to the Commander.  "Spitfire, I need you to listen to Cullen.  Dorian is in pain and we need you to do as he says."

She nodded.  As her body shook uncontrollably from chills.

Cullen knelt nearby but didn’t dare come closer than he already was.  "Can you remember the exercise with imagining the Fade behaving like water?  What does it feel like right now?"

"I’m having trouble breathing.  I feel like I'm drowning.  There’s too much."

"Stop _pulling_ at the water.  _Push_ your way out.  Let it flow past you.  You don't have to control it."  Bull felt no change in the air around him, but he could see from Cullen's face that she was doing as he asked.

"Isn't that better?  Alright, stay calm, I'm going to check on Dorian and I will be right back."  Nervous, Cullen glanced at Bull as he rose to leave the room.  Something was off.  Whatever she had done, it bothered Cullen. 

Bull pressed his fingers deep in her neck, then plowed down her back, rising up again to wring down the lengths of her arms.  She clung to him, her nails biting into the skin, rewarding his efforts.  Every muscle slowly relaxed, her body laid heavy in his lap as they sat in the middle of the room.  Once he felt two waves of shuddering breaths expelled from her, he knew she was back to normal.

There wasn’t a chance to speak before they had company again.  Cullen brought Dorian and Mahanon.  Solas and Vivienne invited themselves, no doubt feeling something happening to Dorian.  Vivienne was of course, the only person who was fully dressed.  Everyone but Mahanon was reacting with differing levels of fear.  Dorian was quiet, Cullen rubbed at his neck, Solas kept his eyes on Praxis with curiosity and Vivienne studied her like a wild animal whom she was debating putting down.

“Must we discuss this now?  Everything is taken care of, isn’t it?”  Mahnon looked to Cullen for support.  Instead, the Commander retrieved a sheet from the bed to cover Praxis.  No one else noticed the nudity until he had done so.  Mahanon flushed at the group’s insensitivity.  He was the only one.

 “Of course we must discuss it darling, that thing is dangerous.”  Bull stiffened at the way the Grand Enchanter regarded Praxis.  Disapproval was evident at the tattoo, the piercings and then disgust when she observed the amputation. “She violated him without provocation!  As offensive as his voice may be at times, he posed no threat and to attack him with what equates to a Holy Smite is reprehensible.”

“I will concede that she has capabilities that are heretofore unknown, but you cannot seriously suggest that she no longer qualifies as a person.”  Solas was also wary of whatever it was Praxis had done, but he was the inquisitive type and like Dorian, would want to study her. 

“You felt it did you not?  We all did.  How far away were we?  We were not even the intended target and still we felt it.”  Vivienne defiantly called out his actions.  “I did not see you rushing in to assist.”

“Such impulsiveness would not have been wise.  It would only create two incapacitated mages instead of the one.”  Solas folded his arms, irritated that he’d have to explain the obvious. 

Bull called up from the floor.  “If any of you wearing dresses would like to explain what happened, I’d appreciate it.”

Everyone looked to Dorian.  He shrugged, still uncharacteristically silent. 

“She stole his mana.  She didn’t block it or nullify it as a Templar normally does.  She reached in and ripped it out of him.”  Solas provided as Cullen winced at the description.  Turning to Dorian, his expression was one of sympathy.  “You must have felt as if you were being eviscerated.”

“Yes.  Well.”  Forcing out the words helped Dorian regain some of his composure. 

With that, Praxis rose, collecting the sheet around her to stand by the window, her bare prosthetic clinking on the marble. 

The entire group, aside from Dorian, turned their heads now that Bull was fully exposed to allow him some privacy to retrieve his trousers. 

_Hmf. Their loss._

Decent, he started up the talks again.  “Now, what were you saying about controlling a mage.”

Vivienne snorted elegantly.  “You should honestly pay more attention to your ears when you bathe, your hearing is failing you.  It’s not a mage, darling.”

“Oh, right.  Got it, ma’am.  I got confused when you were calling her an ‘it’ and trembled in fear from her unchecked power.”  Bull rolled his shoulders and flexed his chest a bit just in case there was a chance she didn’t catch the offense he took in his tone. 

The Inquisitor stepped between them, anticipating that things might escalate. “Let’s not rush into anything without thinking about it logically.”  He looked back and forth between the two.  “Do we know why this is the first time it’s happened?  I thought Cullen was training her.”

Praxis spoke from across the room, looking at no one in particular but certainly avoiding Dorian.  "Back home, I was ordered to mental health after an ambush took out half of my team.  The long and the short of it is that I have ‘a self-manifesting fear of memory loss’.  My fear of the condition, creates the condition.  The therapist and another consultant helped me develop my organization habits.”  She held up the sheets of parchment Cullen had left on the floor.  “It's why my notes are so important, why I plan out every detail, why systems are so important to me."

“Do you know what instigated the episode here?”  Mahanon’s concern was genuine and he accentuated it, trying to overcome Vivienne’s hostility.  Bull was glad that the Boss was smart enough to recognize it was an accident.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled for two counts, exhaled for four.  Each breath was identical, a method she must have learned from ‘mental health’.  “I felt something.  The Fade.  It felt odd, it was being stretched and pulled.  That’s what woke me up, it felt heavy and I couldn’t breathe.”

“Oh, my.”  Dorian’s regular cadence had returned and he moved to join the rest of the group.  “I believe that my little light show for the Inquisitor earlier may have some bearing on this predicament.”

“You use magic during sex?  How terribly irresponsible.”  Vivienne waved off any retort he might have offered by stepping forward, taking command.  “Regardless, that thing is dangerous and how is it that it was not made common knowledge that it was crippled?  Entirely too burdensome if you ask me.”

“Watch your tone, ma’am.  No one asked you.”  Bull bit out the words.  Vivienne was visibly taken aback at the first time Bull had snapped at her.  Solas watched the entire exchange with an entertained grin as he kept his silence. 

Vivienne chose to dismiss his comment, turning instead on Cullen.  “You’ve known.  This whole time we thought the little slut was warming your bed but instead you’ve been cultivating Templar abilities.  It’s your fault this viper has been set loose among us.”

“Alright, that’s enough!  We’ve addressed the main issue and so long as no one uses any magic around her, I don’t believe Praxis to be a danger to anyone.” Mahanon turned to the Commander.  “Cullen, I want you to stay with her just in case.”

Solas turned somberly to Dorian before leaving the room.  “I would like to inform you that I shall no longer participate in your efforts to restore the amulet.  I know you mean well, but there is too much risk that some of her kind might come through.  Clearly, one has proven to be more than we can handle at the moment.”

The Inquisitor gave one last look at Praxis.  She’d retreated to the far edge of the windows to remove herself the candid discussions.  He wanted to say something, but decided to hold it back, choosing to wrap an arm around Dorian to led him out of the room.  Surprisingly, it was Dorian who pressed a kiss to the other man’s temple in comfort.  It seems the night’s excitement had robbed the Inquisitor of a peaceful evening.    

As Bull watched the double doors shut behind the last intruder, he could hear Cullen slump into the nearest chair.  Bull walked past the ex-Templar who now cradled his head in his hands.  He’d better come up with a damn good explanation if Viv chooses to expose this to their mage allies. 

Beyond the glass panes of the window, there was nothing but a blanket of stars and the two moons which were actually crossing obits.  They wouldn’t do so again for another thirteen days.

“Your foot.  You left it on.  You knew you might have an episode.”

“Yes.  I don’t do well in new places usually.”

“What brought you out of it?”

“The notes are the first thing I remember clearly, then it was your hands.  I could remember them moving the ewer from where I placed it earlier.  Somehow that anchored me.”

“Does this condition have anything to do with you blaming yourself for their deaths?”  Bull lightly touched her tattooed arm.  For a brief second, he could tell her body wanted to lean into his caress.

"I don't know if I killed them."  Her tone lacked any of her personality.  This was something she had thought about incessantly since the day it happened.  Each telling drained her and ate at her soul.  There weren’t any more feelings to pour into it.  "The security report was sent before we went on patrol.  Command knew there was an ambush and sent a warning.  After the explosions, I barely remember the firefight.  I can't remember what I did with the report.  I don't know if I put them at risk because I ignored it, believing our objective to be too important or if I forgot to check it.  Regardless, it was my fuck up, no matter what the investigation says.”

“Why the memory loss?  You looked right at me and didn’t know who I was.”

“While recovering from my injuries, I had to take strong medications, which hindered my ability to think clearly.  I liked it.  I didn’t want to spend every waking moment analyzing and fretting over what I may or may not have done.  Unfortunately, when the drugs wore off, I stressed that I went too far.  I would panic that I forgot to properly take care of my responsibilities, maybe even put someone else in danger.  The excessive critical thinking manifested into a debilitating fear, which I wanted to escape.  Hence, more drugs.  Vicious cycle isn’t it?  It’s gotten better since I’ve weaned myself off the painkillers.  I haven’t had an episode this bad in a while, even when I first came to Skyhold, I don’t recall my lapse being that strong.”

Cullen spoke from his seat at the center of the room.  “If I may provide some comfort, from what I could feel even after you released your hold, Dorian had used a great deal of magic.  I’m sure that for someone who isn’t used to magic that the feeling was disturbing.  The training fields for the mages are outside the castle proper for that reason as well as everyone’s safety.

“Thank you Cullen.”  Praxis took a seat on the edge of the bed, keeping herself covered while freeing her leg to finally remove her foot.  She gave an amused huff as she shook her head in disbelief.  “I don’t think that I ever imagined being shunned and considered a monster for being non-magical.”  She flopped backward on the bed.  “Ugh!  This place is so fucking weird!”

Cullen sniggered but Bull thought about earlier that night and other random moments he’d experienced when he was with her.  She used runes without question, thinking anyone could, she had no fear of his vitaar, and she actually thought nugs had wings until he corrected her. 

“Cullen, she’s right.  She’s been thrown so deep into Inquisition work that she is still doesn’t understand this world.  She almost touched my viaar earlier tonight.”

 Cullen screwed his face up at the painful thought but recovered quickly.  “I suppose your right.  I was fortunate to even notice her abilities and considering her world is not only absent the Fade but demons as well, I should have spent more time getting her oriented.”

 _Yes, you should have._   Resentment burned in him at the danger Cullen and Dorian had placed Praxis in.   They knew where she came from and should have known what aspects needed explanation.  At least now that he knew, he’d take extra measures to watch her closer to save her from her own ignorance.  He’d be sure to let Krem know as well. 

“Praxis, I’m sorry for having put you in this position.  It’s my fault.”

“She can’t hear you.  She’s out like a snuffed flame.”  Bull slid his arms under her body to shift her further on the bed comfortably. 

“Oh, good.  I was starting to worry.”  Bull’s head snapped toward Cullen, but Cullen dismissed his concern.  “After the effort she put in to drain Dorian, she should have passed out a long time ago.  When she got up off the floor so easily, as if it took no effort at all, I think that is what frightened Madame de Fer the most.”

Bull stood by the bed, watching her sleep.  Up until arriving in Thedas, she never once fell asleep with the fear that a demon would attack.  For her, they didn’t exist.  Even knowing this for a fact, it still seemed impossible. 

“I’m counting on you Commander.”  Cullen looked up at the rare use of his rank by the Qunari.  “I leave with the Inquisitor for Crestwood then meet up with my Qunari contact on the Storm Coast with the Chargers as soon as we return to Skyhold.  I’m certain Dorian will travel with us.  There is no one else left that I trust her with.”

“Of course.  I understand.”

 _You had better._       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's dance was inspired by [this short](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OR-n3Rg6E8)  
> It also solidified my head canon that Dorian is a dancer and is exquisitely cut because of it. The level of strength and agility these men need is astounding!  
> I also enjoyed watching documentaries on male dancers and incorporated their comments into the dialogue/descriptions.
> 
>  **Isalan hima sa i’na** \- I lust to become one with you  
>  Translation courtesy of [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883?view_full_work=true)
> 
>  
> 
> UP NEXT: Demands of the Qun and Hawke visits Skyhold


	13. When the World Changes around Old Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Pixie for the edit and thanks to Capri for the inspiration

The Iron Bull did not sleep that night.  He persuaded Cullen to take the couch since the Commander would be needed at the negotiations the following day. The Commander laid wrapped in a borrowed blanket on the couch.  His woke often with a start, but quickly returned back to sleep, clearly accustomed to the occurrence. 

The first two hours, Praxis slept hard to the point he would press his hand to her side, checking that she was still breathing.     Once she slipped out of the exhaustive sleep, she was restless.  His voice soothed her murmurs, his touch calmed her tremors.  Her subconscious recognized his body beneath her fingers and she curled around his chest, one leg snaked around his. 

Originally when Bull was assigned to the Inquisition, the Viddasala was disappointed that he wasn’t able to get close to one of the other higher ranking persons in the Inquisition, especially the Inquisitor, but Dorian was there first.  After he sent in reports of all the trade negotiations, alliances, supply routes, and everything else that Praxis dealt with, he was praised for his astute recognition of a critical lynchpin of the Inquisition.  Armies are not self-sufficient and if supply lines could be disrupted, then the army would be crippled.  Praxis had access and oversight over almost every aspect of the Inquisition save for Leliana’s work, but Bull easily compensated for that. 

Bull thought on his next report back.  He’d need to figure out a way to explain her heightened Templar abilities.  Such natural strength was extremely rare, especially considering how she incapacitated Dorian, of all mages.  He stroked a finger over her cheek.  He hoped the Inquisition would continue to be useful to the Qun.  Otherwise, they might demand he bring her back to Seheron or Par Vollen.  He wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to try breeding more like her. 

If so, he knew that she would die enroute, by his hand.  He respected her too much to allow the reeducators to change her, or the Viddasala to use her.  He laughed to himself, no, they would try and she would die slowly as she resisted.  There are few people he thought of as **basalit-an** and Praxis was among them.

Colored light filtered through the decorative Orleasian glass.  He watched the blue and red flecks slowly float over the bed as the sun rose.  Praxis stretched in his arms, arching her back then burying her face in his shoulder. 

“You feel better Spitfire?”

“Much, thank you.”  She glanced at the sleeping Commander.  “I suppose I should make myself decent.” 

Twisting out of his hold, she slid off the bed.  Praxis hopped with practiced aptitude, using furniture for support sparingly.  She moved quietly as she donned her sleepwear.  An amused grin grew up one side of his face.  The sleepwear was nothing more than old pants of his and a linen undershirt he once wore beneath his armor.  Even though both were tailored to a smaller size, they were still large on her frame, the neck of the shirt was left large enough to expose her shoulder. 

Bull loved waking up with her.  At that moment, watching her perform her morning routine, it occurred to him that he wasn’t sure how long they had been sharing his quarters.  It seemed so natural to have her in his bed, to see her every day that he couldn’t recall when her living arrangements changed. 

It didn’t matter.  The Inquisition was benefiting from his fighting skills and the Qunari were able to keep a close watch on the South through his reports.  What harm was there in enjoying the method of entrenchment with his target?  She had a need that he was willing to meet and the Viddasala encouraged his behavior for as long as Praxis was useful. 

Praxis crawled back into the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard.  When she patted her thigh, Bull obediently relaxed between her legs, leaning his head against her chest and tucking her legs under his arms.  There was nothing he could imagine being better than these first moments in the morning.  Praxis opened a tin of balm and began to hum while she methodically rubbed the compound into his horns.  Bull’s head swayed slightly at her movements, the gentle press of her fingers reminded him of a distant memory from his childhood of his favorite Tamassran.  Tama used to rub her thumbs over his skull before his horns had grown in.  He never forgot how soothing the gesture had been. 

“Are there words to that tune?”  It was the same song every morning and the way she hummed it, he could almost hear the words. 

“Yes.”

“So you’re not going to tell me?”

“They are unimportant, it’s the melody that’s the fun part.” 

He let her continue, his fingers ran idly up and down her legs.  Admiring the muscle tone, he was reminded that she wasn’t always within the confines of Skyhold’s walls.  Most mornings she met up with Dalish for exercises, the specifics he didn’t care about, just that Dalish kept an eye on her outside the fortress and that she was happy.  He suspected that she did some training with Cullen since her shoulders were more defined as well.  After her display with Xander, he wasn’t worried about her ability to care for herself in a fight, it was the backstabbing he worried about.

The Inquisition would be stupid to get rid of her just because of last night.  He’d have to be sure and counter any of Vivienne’s powerplays and coax Leliana in the right direction.  While Praxis began work on his other horn, he began a mental checklist of tasks to take of to ensure her security within the Inquisition.  He was not going to lose her as an asset.

***

Cullen's dreams woke him repeatedly throughout the night.  They weren't the worst, but enough that he'd have to sit up and reorient himself.  Each time he looked over to the bed.  Praxis and Bull's limbs stayed interwoven throughout the night.  If one adjusted to a more comfortable position, the other would as well to keep their bodies pressed together.  The scene put a knot in his gut.  Tonight his dreams were mild, usually he woke violently and if he had a lover beside him...

He curled back up on the overlarge couch, adding one more aspect of a normal life to the growing list of things that the chantry denied him even now.  Templars, mages, it had all once been so clear to him.  All he ever wanted to do what to help, to protect.  Damn Meredith, damn Uldrid.  Damn himself for being so blind, for pushing Hawke aside.  Never again will he let his voice go unheard in the midst of injustice.

The warmth of the sun pulled him from a light sleep.  A conversation nearby used familiar voices but the nature of it was foreign.  Without moving to draw attention to himself, his eyes discovered that it was indeed Praxis and Bull talking.  Praxis sat with her back against the headboard, Bull rested between her legs.  She applied a smokey smelling salve to his horns with rapt attention, clearly not for the first time.  Bull massaged her legs, giving more attention to her left.  It took a moment but Cullen was finally able to identify what made it seem so different from all the other times he'd seen them together.  They weren't talking about work.  There was no sexual innuendo.  Neither of them was trying to command or entertain a crowd.  They spoke of innocuous things, intentionally avoiding the subjects of last night or the Inquisition. 

Cullen firmly shut his eyes again, not wanting to intrude on their moment away from responsibility and actually found himself indulging in the serenity of it.  Bull talked about some of his favorite foods.  Praxis threatened to feed him until he burst.  Praxis brought up military working dogs, how they differed from Mabari and the higher level of training necessary since they were typically trained for multiple jobs.  Bull wondered how many tasks a 'normal' dog could be trained to do. 

It was the most at peace Cullen had felt in a long time and he envied Bull's fortune.   _If only she had been a he..._ Cullen quickly dismissed the idea, knowing that he may never be able to push the memory of Hawke out of his heart.

"Cullen.  You awake?"  Bull used a moderate volume which wouldn’t wake a normal person. 

No response.

"See? He's out.  I promise to be quick, can't promise you'll be quiet."

"I'm up, I'm up."  It was one thing to eavesdrop, but another entirely to lay by while they rutted next to him.  Especially if he couldn't participate. 

_What was that?  Maker's breath, I’m spending too much time around them._

"Cullen, you sleep well?"

"As well as can be expected, thank you Praxis."

She shot him a sly grin.  "Should have joined us in the bed.  It's large enough, probably more comfortable too."

Bull answered before Cullen could get over the embarrassing thought.  "Nah, he refused when I couldn't promise that he wouldn't wake up with my dick in his hands."

Cullen was struck speechless.  **_That_** conversation certainly did not happen.

"Bull!" Praxis sounded mildly offended. "You wouldn't want him to give you a hand job.  His hands are massive!  You want someone with small delicate hands, it makes your cock look bigger."

"Huh, shit yeah!  You're right.  I guess that explains why I prefer oral from women."

Oh, there it is.   _That_  was the type of conversation he was accustomed to them having.

"By Andraste’s flaming sword! Can we please speak of something else?"  Cullen sat up on the couch, pushing aside the borrowed blanket.  “You two are the strangest couple I’ve ever come across.”

Praxis hugged Bull’s neck, pressing her cheek to the top of his head.  “Aw, we’re a couple.”

“Until I see a hotter piece of ass walk by.”  Bull tilted his head up and they kissed tenderly. 

To Cullen’s surprise, Praxis laughed at the remark.  “Haha!  Is that how it works?  You have some slight confusion about what it means to be a couple, so you’re like: ‘Instructions not clear, dick stuck in random ass’.”

While they continued their back and forth, laughing at the possibility of infidelity, it occurred to Cullen that Bull  _hadn’t_  been sleeping with anyone else.  There was that time with him, but Praxis was involved, in a manner of speaking.  When they were in Haven everyone knew that Bull wasn’t shy in letting everyone know he was free game.  Now when Bull talked, it always circled back to Praxis.

“The Inquisition would run out of resources before it found anything sexier than this.”  Twisting in the bed, Bull dug both his hands into Praxis’ hips while trying to take a bite out of her side.

“Stop it you ass!”  She kicked at him with minimal effort, the joy of being called ‘sexy’ painted on her face. 

“Ahem, I believe that’s my cue to leave.” 

“No rush.”  Bull hopped out of bed, abandoning his snack to head for the bathing room.  “I need to take a shit anyway.”

Cullen shot Praxis an incredulous look, clearly questioning her tastes to which she only responded with a shrug of her shoulders and a charming laugh.  Bull was crude and always inappropriate, but it seems he was taking his relationship with Praxis seriously. 

With Bull out of the room, Cullen felt the need to ask, “All joking aside, are you still happy?”

Praxis sat and considered the question.  Cullen felt that she was accounting for more than just her sex life, “Yes.  This works for now.  I am very happy.”

A thought struck Cullen.  Recalling his conversation with Bull about his upcoming travels to Crestwood for the meeting with Hawke, Cullen assumed the Champion would return to Skyhold with the Inquisitor.  “Praxis.  How do you make a decision when presented with two bad options?”

“Easy.  I flip a coin.”  Praxis leapt from the bed to sit on a chair closer to him.  When she sat, she crossed her legs, tucking the ends under her thighs like a child.

“You leave such things to chance?”

“No, of course not.  If the coin lands and tells me to do option A and I don’t like the result, then I’ll know that I wanted B all along.  Sometimes when there is a tough decision, we won’t know the true answer until we are forced to make it.  The coin provides that pressure.”

“Thank you for your advice.”  Cullen stood, resisting the urge to fold the blanket out of habit.

“Wait.  Take a stack of papers with you.”

“What for?”

Bull walked into the room, amused that he had to explain it.  “In case you run into a servant in the hall.  It’ll look like you came here on duty instead of walking out after a night of crazy sex with your subordinate and a Qunari mercenary.”

Standing near the door, Cullen let his head fall back hard against the wall.  “Maker’s breath, Vivienne.  Our lessons, Praxis, I’m so sorry.  I never thought about what others might say about you coming and going from my office.”

“It doesn’t bother me that Vivienne has resorted to name-calling.  It actually betrays how frightened she is of what I can do.  As for the name itself, it’s nothing new.”

Cullen couldn’t hide his disbelief.  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“No.”  She tiled her head to the side as she gave it a slight shake.  It didn’t bother her and she couldn’t see why it should.  Bull stood behind her, placing his hands possessively on her shoulders. 

“I’m a means to an end.  I don’t need people to like me, unlike the Inquisitor who needs to have a sterling image.  I welcome negative attention.  If people are wasting their time talking about me, then they have less time to worry about Mahanon, you, or the other advisors.”

At her answer, Bull kissed the back of her head, grinning conspiratorially at Cullen.  He and Bull had a similar conversation back in Haven, ‘Provide harmless gossip so no one goes looking for something worse.’

Sex might have brought them together, but Bull and Praxis had become more than they would let anyone realize, hiding how close they were with uncomfortable displays of affection and crude language.  Cullen left the randy couple to the privacy of their room while he began to mentally prepare himself for a day’s worth of negotiations and diplomacy. 

***

Three weeks later, Cullen sat alone at Skyhold’s tavern bar.  A coin his brother gave him was beginning to lose the embossed shape of Andraste from being worried in his pocket over the years.  He held it now, not needing to flip it to know the answer to his dilemma.  The thought of leaving the answer up to chance solidified his resolve.  He needed to talk to Hawke. 

From the coroner of his eye he could make out the color of his armor, the vague outline of his body sitting at a small table with Alistair.  The Warden wasn’t much different than Cullen remembered from their brief time together in the Order.  Warden Alistair joked and smiled, but Hawke remained silent, offering only enough of a response to keep Alistair talking and paying for the drinks.  The two came to Skyhold to wait for the Inquisitor to return from the Storm Coast before the entire group left for the Western Approach to investigate Alistair’s lead. 

Finishing his tankard, Cullen rose from his stool, fear chilling his skin and excitement churning hot in his chest.  Standing across from his old flame, he regretted leaving his armor behind, feeling small compared to Hawke’s full battle gear.  Hawke’s expression soured.  Alistair looked from one man to the other, waiting for one of them to speak, incapable of taking the hint.

“Want to step outside Knight-Captain?”  Hawke didn’t wait for an answer, shoving his half full tankard across the table in irritation while Alistair whimpered his disappointment at not being included. 

“Right then, I’ll just be here, drinking.  Alone.”  Alistair tried to guilt an invitation out of one of them unsuccessfully.

Cullen led them out the back of the tavern into a small, dark alley that he knew was far from any roaming patrol.  In the seclusion, Cullen was losing his resolve, not knowing where to start even though he had practiced his words a thousand times over since the Winter Palace. 

“Hawke.  I’m,” Cullen felt it all crash upon him.  His pride, his arrogance, his fear of perceptions that crippled him.  He charged past it.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have broken things off between us.  Being away from you tore me in half.”

Hawke let his arms fall from being crossed at his chest, his stance eased, the grim line in his mouth fell.  Cullen stepped forward, hopeful.  When Hawke didn’t flinch from Cullen’s hand as it wrapped around Hawke’s neck and into his hair, Cullen became bold. 

“Maker’s mercy, how I’ve missed you.”  Cullen tugged and Hawke came to him.  Their kiss was soft, new, as if they had never been together before.  Memories flooded Cullen’s mind as he deepened the kiss, tugging at Garrett’s thick hair and inhaling his woodland musk.  Here they were, once again, stealing a moment in a dark ally, hidden from the world.  Just like old times back in Kirkwarll.  Garrett still smelled the same, his skin a bit rougher but, everything was so familiar, so wonderful that Cullen wanted Hawke to consume him, burning new memories into his mind.

When Cullen tried to place his free arm around Hawke’s back, Garrett grabbed his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks.  Cullen pulled back from their kiss, confusion flagging his confidence.

Hawke’s intimidatingly gruff expression had returned.  “Cullen, fuck you.”

In three words, Cullen’s world was shattered.

 ***

The rain poured down on the Storm Coast.  Bull led the party to a tent set up near the cliffs.  “Alright, our Qunari contact should be here to meet us.”

“He is.”

“Gatt!”  Seeing his old friend instantly filled Bull with a sense of belonging, a reminder of home, his place in the world.  In the Qun.  Quick introductions were made and the basic plan was outlined to the Inquisitor.  Bull had no worry that Mahanon would back out.  This type of alliance was unheard of and extremely useful.  Bull amused himself with how many nobles would shit themselves when they heard the Inquisition had done the impossible.  He couldn’t imagine what kick in the balls it would be to Tevinter.  Pricks.

Satisfied with the terms, Mahanon left Gatt and Bull alone to inform the rest of his party. 

Gatt frowned at Bull.  “Our superiors are not happy that you revealed your position in the Ben-hassrath to the Inquisition.” 

“They would have figured it out eventually and this way my reports get out quicker since I don’t have to be secretive about them.”

“Relax Hissrad.  I know how it is in the field.”  Gatt reached for Bull’s hand, slipping his fingers between Bull’s.  “We’re in this together.”

Bull leaned forward as Gatt stood on tiptoe, their mouths met in a long forgotten embrace.  The taste of the lithe elf was fresh, heated.  Gatt’s hands reached for Bull’s horns to pull himself off the ground, a gesture that reminded Bull of the hot nights they spent together.  While in Seheron, the atrocities of the day were muted by their passionate coupling at night, a mind numbing act that left them too spent to have the energy for nightmares formed from what they had to do. 

Gatt’s hands slid off Bull’s horns once his feet found the ground again.  The hands dipped, searching into the collar of Bull’a armor. 

Bull knew what he was missing.  “I had to take it off.  The Inquisition is a bunch of nosy bastards.  Didn’t want anyone asking too many questions.”

“Like your logistician?”  Gatt raised his hands in mock surrender.  “I understand you have to keep up certain appearances.  She sounds fairly competent for a **bas.**   Her Templar abilities have caught the attention of the Ariqun.  At least in that aspect, our superiors agree with your choosing her as a target.  It’s fascinating how easily humans can be manipulated by base urges such as sex.”

As Gatt laughed, Bull felt an impulse to defend her, but knew it was pointless.  He began to hate himself for even letting the protective thought flash into his mind.  She was **bas**.  He couldn’t let himself think otherwise.  He cupped Gatt’s face, the man’s smile warmed his heart and his fingers trailed up the length of Gatt’s long elven ears.  Bull used to love hearing the small purr that came from the gesture, how it was such a stark contrast to the deadly agent he’d grown to care for. 

But it didn’t feel that way today.

Bull chalked it up to nerves.  The high risk mission, the way that the Qun itself felt closer, it was slightly unsettling how it felt...odd.  He should feel more at ease knowing that purpose and structure were the end goal of what they accomplished today, but instead it left a strange taste in his mouth. 

He needed some time to adjust, that’s all.

Gatt swatted Bull’s hand away playfully, missing the other man’s discomfort.  “Just like old times.  C’mon then.  It looks like you chose the harder target for us.”

“You think so?”

The battle was a bit rougher than the expected, but nothing that veterans such as themselves couldn’t handle.  He watched the dreadnaught close in on the smuggler ship after the signal fire was lit.  His chest swelled with pride to see the strength of his people doing the right thing.  Red lyrium smugglers were dangerous bastards and had to be stopped.  This alliance had the potential to bring about even more good for both peoples. 

“Bull, the Chargers!”  Mahanon’s voice snapped his attention to the opposite cliff face.  Too far away to assist, Bull saw a second wave of Venatori closing in on his company.  The Chargers were out numbed.

“Your men need to hold that position Hissrad.”  A warning tone laced Gatt’s words. 

“I know.  This is what’s right for the Qun.”  Bull stood watching the shoreline.  He felt Mahanon’s hand on his arm.  The Inquisitor understood the importance of the alliance, but he also knew Bull’s men.  The elf was a strong man, but he often let his heart rule his head. 

Dorian and Cassandra turned away from the coast.  Unable to watch, but knowing it was not their place to interfere. 

Mahanon whispered.  “If they die, Praxis will never forgive you.”

***

Hawke shoved Cullen backward, roaring with anger.  “Fuck you!  The Chantry was blown up, mages and Templars were running amok, innocent citizens were caught in the crossfire and you left!  You fucking left!  You abandoned them, you abandoned Bethany, all of us!  Were you even aware that there was a world happening outside of your precious job, Commander?”

Using both hands, Hawke shoved Cullen the final distance to crash against the stonewall.   

“While you played figurehead, I remained in that burning shithole trying to save who I could.  The little good that it did.  Where were you!?  A lot of fucking good you did leaving!  The Divine dead.  Thousands dead.  How many more lives will it take to see you satisfied?!”

Hawke punched him square in the gut.  Cullen doubled over, mostly because he knew that was the expected reaction.  He wasn’t sure if he felt the pain of the impact.  Garrett was wearing gauntlets.  It should have hurt.  Cullen wasn’t sure if it did.  The onslaught of Hawke’s accusations had already hollowed him out.

 “Maker damn you!  You and all Templars!  And now? Now!  Here you are allied with them, you fucking hypocrite!”  The punches continued as Garrett raged. 

Cullen never attempted to defend himself or to block the hits.

“I know now what a bunch of shits each of you is in truth.  The Inquisition is a sham.  It is only because I owe Varric my life a hundred times over that I’m even helping you fuckers.”  Cullen let his tired, bruised body fall to the ground.  His passiveness seemed to encourage Hawke to continue, switching to kicks to Cullen’s legs and torso.  “It was because I trusted the Chantry, I trusted _you_ that I sided with the Templars, that I chose to…to murder my best friend.” 

For the faintest moment, Hawke’s anger receded to reveal that he was still mourning the loss, but he regained control quickly, returning back to anger to refuel his momentum.   

“I can still remember how it felt to plunge the knife into his heart Cullen.  Do you have any idea what that is like?!  I felt the last heartbeat reverberate through the metal of the blade.  I will always remember his face, the excruciating pain that I inflicted.” Stone-faced, Hawke regarded Cullen with so little emotion that Cullen could believe a demon had taken hold. 

“For what it’s worth, you look worse off than he, and I’m glad for it.  I hope that somehow, Anders can see this.”  Hawke kneeled next to Cullen, punching him in the face until his eyes were swollen shut and his jaw popped from its seat.  The gauntlets ripped through Cullen’s flesh like razor blades.  “May the Maker spit in your ashes.”

After the Circle fell to abominations, Cullen relied on his drive to protect others to keep going.  After Kirkwall fell, he relied on his faith in the Maker to find a new purpose away from the Chantry.  After Haven fell, Cullen was driven to protect the Inquisitor, he poured himself into building an army to fix the world.  Now he lay in the snow chilled mud of a back alley, his vision red, his mouth filling with blood.  He spit out chunks of his insides each time he coughed. 

Cullen no longer felt the conviction to carry on.  With his mind mortally wounded, his body quit.  The temperature continued to drop as the night grew darker.  The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces fell asleep in a frozen ally. 

_I cannot give my all as I did to the Chantry.  I am not enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: Bull has to deal with the fallout from his decision, Praxis has to deal with how Bull has changed (sexy times of course) and the Ben-hassrath have a growing interest in a natural born Templar.


	14. Kadan (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Graphic depictions of death, bondage, knife play, minor dom/sub

Praxis walked at a steady pace into the tavern.  Hawke was gone, but she recognized the Warden sitting alone, he seemed to be debating whether to stay longer or finally turn in for the night.  He still wore his armor, probably the only set of clothing he had considering he’d been on the run for months.  Cullen had mentioned to her during one of their training sessions that he knew the man from years ago, even called him a friend.  He’ll have to do.

“Alistair, am I right?”  She walked right up next to him, leaning her hip against his table.

“Depends, are you mad at him?”  The blond had a hypnotic smirk that would seduce anyone into bed with him, but he used it with the grace of a man who didn’t know his own beauty. 

“Do you always assume that everyone who seeks you out is upset with you?”

“Usually how it is.”  It took Alistair a moment before he let his head fall to his hand with a laugh.  “Sneaky little witch aren’t you?  Getting me to confess so easily.”

“Oh, I can get you to do much more than that.”  Praxis pushed the table away from Alistair, then closed the distance between them to sit in his lap.  Her arms rested lightly on his shoulders while her hands played in his hair.  “Come upstairs with me.”

She nipped at his neck, his jaw, then sucked on his earlobe before whispering, “ _I need your help.  Pretend for me._ ”

Alistair stiffened underneath her, then with tentative hands, pushed her off him.  “Lead the way my little vixen.”

He was a poor actor but no one would take notice of that, most would assume the worst of her, the rest would pray for the Warden’s safety when The Iron Bull returned.  Holding him by the hand, she led him up the tavern stairs to Bull’s room.  Inside, she locked the door behind them, then bolted out the back door of the room, Alistair following close behind.  Leave it to the Qunari spy to choose a room that has multiple escape routes.  The way to the back alley behind the tavern involved a handful of doors and a twisted stairway. 

Halfway down the alley, Alistair froze in his tracks.  “Oh Sweet Maker!  What happened?”  He was shocked as they approached Cullen, passed out and bleeding on the ground, snow beginning to collect on his clothes.

“I don’t know.  I found him like this.  Until we can figure out what happened we need to keep this quiet.”  Praxis knelt by the Commander, pushing him so he lay flat on his back.

“Alright, I can handle that.”  Alistair clapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation.  “Where do you need me to carry him?”

Standing, Praxis ignored the Warden and lifted the Commander’s right leg.  She dove forward, wrapping her other arm around Cullen’s raised thigh as she rolled over his body to land on her feet in a crouch near his left shoulder.  Her momentum and strategic arm placement had slung the Commander over the back. 

She slowly rose from her squatting lunge position to face the Warden.  “How the Hell could you carry him wearing all that?”  She nodded at his full armor.  “I need you to get the doors for me.  We’re going back to that first room we were in.”

They met no one on the way back, thankfully.  After she shucked Cullen off her shoulders into her bed, she began to snap orders for Alistair. 

“Get the soapstones from the fireplace.”  Meanwhile, she hastily undressed Cullen, taking stock of the changing skin color where bruises were forming as well as small cuts scattered here and there.  “Put them under the blankets near his chest and feet.”

Set to task warming the bed with the stones didn’t hinder Alistair from commenting.  “Shouldn’t I be the one to undress him?  I mean, you are after all, that is, um…well.”

She would have laughed at his coyness any other time but, there were more pressing matters at the moment.  “There’s a jar behind you on the fourth shelf, blue string around the rim.”

She tenderly felt around Cullen’s face, his jaw seemed to be the only major damage.  Alistair preemptively opened the jar and held it out for her as she reset the bone.  The poultice was a Stitches original she and Bull kept on hand in the event she ever dislocated her shoulder again.  It worked perfectly on the Commander’s jaw and even began to seal some of the cuts on his face. 

Alistair kept quiet, fetching and holding whatever she needed.  A few temporary bandages and a healing potion later, Cullen was resting soundly.  Retrieving two blankets from a trunk, Praxis gestured Alistair to the ratty, overstuffed chairs by the fireplace. 

“There no point in either of us trying to share the bed, he gets nightmares sometimes.”

Alistair huffed, “Don’t we all.”  He took his armor off, making use of Bull’s empty armor stand.  “Why the pretense?  Wouldn’t it have been easier if we’d gotten a healer?”

“I wanted to be sure that no one bothered us.  I can’t have anyone seeing the Commander like this.  He’s too important to have him seem weak even though you and I know full well that’s not the case.  Perception is reality.  So much rides on what other people _think._ ”  Glancing over her shoulder at the sleeping man, she wondered who would have done this.  Cullen wasn’t defenseless.  It had to be someone he trusted, someone who could… shit.

“When do you head out again?”  She purposefully avoided the topic of Hawke, not wanting Alistair to guess at her reason for asking. 

“Tomorrow afternoon I believe.  Your Inquisitor wanted us to scout ahead, saying he’d meet up once he’s done with his business on the Storm Coast.”  Alistair bundled himself snug in the thick blanket and eased further into his chair, propping his feet up on a pile of wood.  “Busy man, oh!  I mean elf, wait, is that right?  Elf, man?  Hmm.  Alright, busy _e-l-f,_ your Inquisitor.” 

Snorting a pleased laugh, Praxis was glad to see that she wasn’t the only one who was unsure of the terminology.  

“He’s passionate, one of those rare leaders who cares.”   Alistair watched her even when she ceased talking.  He was excessively handsome and she wondered if that was a requirement of all Templars.  “You know Alistair, it doesn’t have to be pretense if you don’t want it to.”

He laughed nervously.  “Oh, um, thank you, but Cullen’s right there and, and I can’t.”

Pulling the blanket over his head like a child trying to hide in the worst spot imaginable.  She let him be but made a note to keep an eye on him if he ever came back to Skyhold.  She glanced back at Cullen and cursed Hawke.  _I’ll have him pay dearly for this._

 

She waited until the Warden was sound asleep before slipping out of the room.  Her first stop was the tavern. 

Heedless of the hour, she made her way through the guest wing of the castle, stopping at Hawke’s door.  She was somewhat surprised at how quickly he answered.

He recognized her after a moment, his face breaking into a sneer.  “It’s none of your business and he got what he deserved.”

Her foot caught the door when he tried to shut it.  “Not so fast.”  Ramming her shoulder into the wood, she barged into his room.  What was left of it.  It looked as if a tornado had been set loose, furniture broken, objects thrown or smashed.  “By the looks of things you’re not so certain about that answer.”

With a grim laugh, he took one spin about the room.  “Don’t like my décor?  I learned it from a _friend._ A concept your Commander knows nothing about.”

“Where are your friends now Hawke?” 

Taken aback, he tried to salvage his imposing demeanor by challenging her.  “Why don’t you just hit me and be done with it?  Or are you going to pluck my eyes out?  Don’t think I haven’t heard about you.”

“I’m going to do far worse than that.”  Hawke crossed his arms smugly when she stepped back to call out down the hall.  “You can come in now.”

Hawke rolled his eyes.  “Do I at least get my choice of weapon if I’m to face one of your underlings?”

“No.” Praxis waited until her companion was in the room before continuing.  “Champion of Kirkwall, I’d like for you to meet Cole.  The two of you are going to have a wonderful little chat.”

***

Cullen woke feeling rested with only a minor headache.  Running a hand through his hair, he recalled the rage he saw in Hawke.  He knew that the man could get hot headed, but that, that was the worst he’d seen.  Maker, he couldn’t believe Hawke would do something like that, to think…The unfamiliar bed eventually registered as he realized he was looked at the headboard instead of the footboard.  Bolting upright, a soft hand on his chest kept him from leaping to the ground.

“Easy Cullen.”  Praxis pressed lightly on his skin to have him lay back down.  “There’s no rush.  I even retrieved your armor from your quarters last night.  I also cleaned out your desk for you.” 

What she really meant was she took his lyrium kit.  He was willing to bet that she tightened the protocols for getting lyrium from supply as well.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank her or throttle her.  What he hated most was she had anticipated exactly what he was contemplating, making the decision for him. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, he felt a new scar and swelling at the joint of his jaw.  “So what magic have you worked to explain this?”

“You can tell anyone who asks that one of our training sessions got out of hand.  I’ve already talked to Bailey, he’ll ensure that’s the only story that gets told.”

“You sure you can trust him?”  Cullen was aware that Captain Bailey tended to spread the best rumors, whether true or not.  In this case the truth was more interesting than Praxis’ lie and he was certain Bailey would be ecstatic with the attention he’d get from that story.

“Positive.  Remember when I asked to modify the roster for the soldiers being sent to Griffon Wing Keep?  I took his name off in exchange for control of the rumor mill.  He’d do anything to avoid duty there.”  Praxis stood, brushing imaginary dirt from her breeches.  “I’m sorry to leave so soon, but I have appointments this morning.  Don’t worry Commander, I’ve already taken care of your schedule, you’re free until after noontide.”

He watched her leave, thankful for the small respite to pull himself together.  He pressed his head deeper in the pillow.  He couldn’t imagine last night having gone any worse.  He’d known there was a possibility that Hawke was still upset, but Maker, he never expected that. 

_Insufferable, selfish ass._

Cullen had his answer.  Closing his eyes tight, he processed the rejection, the resentment. 

_Fuck him._

Cullen had only approached him out of envy.  Praxis and Mahanon both had happy relationships and Cullen now realized that he was only in love with the idea of being in love.  He no longer knew Hawke.  What they had once shared was gone forever.

Cullen was pulled from his thoughts by another voice.  “Speaking of rumors, I heard that she comes from a land with no magic?”

Turning on his side, he saw Alistair walking nearer. 

“Yes, she does.”  Cullen pushed off the bed to find his reflection in the mirror mounted over a dresser.  He examined his face.  There was a faint yellow bruising on his jaw below his ear and a new scar under his eye.  He heard Alistair jump up on the bed to sit.  “How did she rope you into all this?”

Alistair chuckled.  “I helped get you up here last night.” 

“She asked you for help?”

“Yes, she knew we used to be close and…”  Alistair began to sport a faint flush.  “she needed someone to get the doors.”

Cullen burst into laughter, clenching at his sore abs.  The image of Praxis carrying him while a Warden played handmaiden was priceless.  Oh, Maker he needed that. 

“Go on then, laugh. Besides, you’re not the only one who’s going to have a false rumor spread about him.  She brought me up here to help out under the pretense of…well…doing…. _yoooou knoooow_ ”  He waved his hands over the bed with a smirk of pride. 

In a better mood, Cullen was unable to resist the opportunity to get Alistair for the countless pranks he blamed on Cullen when they were young Templar recruits.

Cullen tried to sound distressed without letting bits of laughter come through.  “Oh.  Blessings of Andraste be with you.  You’re braver than I.”

An uncomfortable laugh trickled from Alistair.  “What?  What do you mean?”

“She’s with someone.”  Cullen had to turn from the mirror least Alistair catch his grin in the reflection.

“Maker’s breath!  That’s just great.  Tell me he’s at least unattractive.  Wait, he’s not bigger than me is he?”  Alistair leapt from the bed.  Cullen began to put on his armor, listening to Alistair’s worried pacing.  “Is it someone I’ve met?”

“Surely you must have.  He was traveling with the Inquisitor.”  He couldn’t help it, he had to see his face.  Turning, Cullen answered, “The Iron Bull.”

“No, no-no-no. That’s not…him?  No.  The giant Quanari, with the giant maul and the giant horns?!  The one who talks about getting a hard on after slicing baddies in two?  That Iron Bull?”  Alistair threw himself face down on the bed with a groan of despair. 

“I know no other.”  Fastening the last buckle and his amusement under control, he opened the door leading to the tavern.  “Breakfast?”

Not waiting for an answer, Cullen walked out of the room to take the stairs down to the first floor.

“Cullen!  Get…stop!  Come here!”  Alistair was pleading that they stayed in private, but Cullen saw the advantage of making the imaginary tryst as believable as possible.

_If people are wasting their time talking about me, then they have less time to worry about Mahanon, or you._

Spotting Varric at a table, Cullen sat down with the storyteller before Alistair caught up to him.  “Good morning Varric.”

“Curly.  Heard you had a rough training session.”  He pointed to Cullen’s discolored skin.  Cullen offered another prayer in thanks to Praxis’ quick intervention.  He’d forgotten how quickly word spread around the fortress.

“Such injuries are not uncommon during Templar training.  She’ll master her skills-”

Alistair barged into the conversation.  “Cullen!  We need to talk!  You can’t leave me like that!”

Cullen ignored him, reveling in this one chance for payback.  He pointed to a half finished plate of food.  “You going to finish that Varric?  I’m famished.”

A barmaid brought a round of drinks.  She looked at Alistair with a broad grin.  “Brave lad, you.”

Cullen took a swift drink of his ale to stop the threat of laughter at Alistair’s frightened look.  Alistair spoke to her receding back.  “No one told me!  I didn’t know!”

“Is there a problem Warden?”  Varric was intrigued, Cullen could practically see a quill taking dictation in his mind.

“No!  Nothing!  Absolutely nothing happened!”

Cullen offered some insight in between bites.  “He slept with Praxis last night.”

Alistair collapsed in a chair to bang his head on the table, hands behind his head and moans of regret echoed off the table as Varric chuckled.  The dwarf patted the Warden on the back for some mild comfort.  “Wow.  I don’t know whether to congratulate you or begin arranging your funeral.  You do know that she and the Iron Bull are something of a thing, right?”

“I wish someone told me last night!”

After a few more teasing jabs, Varric excused himself, most likely eager to spread the word or take bets on how much time Alistair had on this side of the Void.  Alistair kept his head on the table, turning on its side to face Cullen.  “How much longer do you believe I have left to live?”

Checking that no one was nearby, Cullen finally decided to save his friend’s nerves.  “Don’t worry.  Bull won’t do anything.  He and Praxis have a…weird relationship.  He’ll understand the need for a little lie.”

“Really?”  There was a glint of hope in Alistair’s eye that turned accusatory.  “Wait.  Was this all because of that one time…”

“One time?!”

“Alright, those few times…” 

 

The two ex-Templars spent the rest of the morning reminding each other of their time as recruits.  Cullen now knew that times back then were complicated and hostile, but they had been too young to notice.  Their memories were only of pranks, schooling and discoveries. 

They were enjoying their banter until they were joined by an unwelcome figure.  “Alistair, are you packed?” 

Hawke interrupted a particularly grand tale of Cullen’s involving a sheep’s bladder and purple dye.  It hurt to see him.  Every tender spot on him felt newly fresh.  Cullen stood to face the man, refusing to show weakness again. 

If he wasn’t good enough for Hawke, fine.  He didn’t have time for such dalliances anyway. 

Assuming a displeased demeanor, Cullen looked Hawke square in the eyes.  To his surprise, Hawke wasn’t the same man from the alley last night.  Something about him was off.

“Riiight, alone…”  Alistair picked up on the tension earlier this time and excused himself to pack.

“Hawke.”

Hawke tried to sound gruff but his tone faltered to a pout.  “You didn’t have to sic one of your Captains on me.”

“I didn’t.  The Commandant paid you a visit did she?”  Cullen’s lip curled up with dark amusement.  “How did that go?” 

Cullen had a gut feeling that it was an unpleasant experience.

Hawke leaned in to emphasize his words without shouting across the tavern.  “You know damn well what that crazy bitch did!”

“I don’t.  You may recall I was rather incapacitated last night.”  Cullen folded his arms in front of his chest.  Curious where Hawke was trying to go with this conversation. 

“About that…”

“Don’t bother.  You were quite clear last night.  Know this now: last night will be forgotten.  Should you lay a hand on me again, I will not hesitate to cut you down.  Safe travels _Champion_.”  Cullen turned heel and left the tavern. 

He was done with this, with him.  There was work that sorely needed his attention and he would not allow any further distractions.

***

The journey back to Skyhold from the Storm Coast was made in record time.  The Inquisitor was beginning to feel the pressure of his position.  He’d permitted only one day for rest at Skyhold before his team would leave again to catch up with Hawke and Alistair who were five days ahead of them.  The Iron Bull kept to himself for the entire trip, no one dared to broach even the most innocuous topic with him. 

In the courtyard of Skyhold, Master Dennent’s hands took each of the party’s horses.  The advisors and Praxis waited patiently with pressing business for the Inquisitor, knowing his time in residence would be short. 

Praxis waited off to the side, knowing her supply requests were of less importance.  She was a bit surprised when Dorian approached her, his lovely swagger always put her in a good mood. 

“You should pace yourself.  If you keep this up, you’ll have me thoroughly spoiled.”  Dorian addressed her with ease, stroking his mustache as was one of his adorable quirks. 

Her heart danced in her chest, hopeful at his kind, teasing words.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Standing shoulder to shoulder, he nudged her.  “Dennet’s best horses at each exchange, chocolate hidden in all the provision packs, even two bottles of Ravaini port.  Please tell me you know that those did not last but a single night.”

“Hence why there were only two.  You still had work to accomplish.”

“Ah, yes.  The burden of being indispensable.”  Placing a hand on her shoulder, his eyes pierced into hers with rare seriousness.  “I was never upset with you.  You know that right?  The experience at the Winter Palace was just a little unsettling.”

Praxis shuddered, “For us both.  Cullen has spent the past few weeks explaining the Circles and the mage-Templar war.  With the Inquisition’s focus on the Venatori and politics in Orlais, I never knew.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it, I am quite aware it was not intentional.  However, do endeavor not to repeat such an episode.  It was ghastly unpleasant.”  Dorian draped his arm over her shoulder to pull her close for a quick peck on the temple.

She leaned against him, welcoming the olive branch, but still making a note to continue pampering some of the supply packs.  Opening her eyes, she scanned the area with dismay.  “Where’s The Bull?”

Instantly, Dorian’s mood fell and Praxis felt panic begin to rise in her chest.  She searched the yard again.  “Dorian, where are the Chargers?  Where’s Krem?”

“Bull said he wanted to tell you himself.” 

Praxis pressed her reports and forms into Dorian’s hands, sprinting for Bull’s quarters.  Cullen called out for her once, a shake of Mahanon’s head and a firm hand kept the Commander from chasing after her. 

 

In his quarters, Bull stood hunched over a table staring down at half-finished reports, looking for something to occupy his mind.  Giving up, he went to sit on the bed.  He used his index finger to pry open a familiar hallow spot in the center of the footboard.  The small piece of jewelry was wrapped in a small slip of silk.  Clutching it tight, he’d told Gatt he stopped wearing it to prevent questions.  The truth was he hadn’t worn it in years, disgusted with the memories it brought back.

_When Bull was in Sehron, he was known as Hissrad.  His time in Sehron had been a living nightmare.  Each day saw death and blood.  By the end of the day, things seemed to get better, the streets calmer, but by morning fresh new predators either flowed from the shadows of the jungles, or landed on the shores from Tevinter.  After a week, Hissrad became numb to the sight of blood.  A month and dismembered body parts became common.  Before the year was out, nothing gave him pause.  He no longer fought people.  The weapon wielding figures he killed were nothing more than meat being offered to a butcher for slaughter._

_After being rescued from a Tevinter Magister, the ex-slave, Gatt, trained with Hissrad’s unit.  His role increased weekly as older members of Hissrad’s team were slowly killed off.  Gatt was one of the few who lasted longer than a few weeks.  Hissrad was aware that the elf looked up to him, so he’d ensured he reinforced the basics of the Qun whenever he had a chance._

_Gatt wanted to rage at the Qun for not allowing him to hunt for his family, to vindictively seek out slavers.  Instead, Hissrad re-directed that anger when they took on missions to smoke out Tal-Vashoth or fog warriors.  Gatt was good at killing things.  After each mission he would look up at Hissrad, his eyes bright, a grin splitting his face with delight._

_“Good work Hissrad?”_

_Hissrad always ruffled his hair before they left for their next objective.  “Yeah.  Good work.”_

_Gatt was always eager to please, always sought approval.  Perhaps it was an elf thing, or maybe a lingering trait from his time as a slave.  Gatt’s need for praise eventually developed into a tight bond between the two men as Hissrad began to struggle with the demands of the Qun._

_Every day was a mindless march into the darkest pits of the Void, tinted red with the blood of his enemies and the innocents alike.  If Gatt hadn’t been there at night, his reassuring body pressed against him, Hissrad was certain he would have cracked earlier._

_“What do the Qunari call someone they care about?”_

_Gatt asked the question innocently enough that Hissrad didn’t give much thought to the elf’s motives when answering.  “ **Kadan**.  It means ‘where the heart lies’”_

_“You are my **Kadan**.”  Gatt had said it so plainly and with such conviction that it surprised Hissrad.  _

_Hissrad had heard of other Qunari having a **Kadan** , but never thought about it for himself.  His work always came first.  He’d learned early in his life that all things were temporary, especially people.  _

_Gatt handed over a small piece of jewelry, a dragon’s tooth fixed to a metal chain.  Doubtful if Gatt truly understood the significance behind it, Hissrad still accepted it.  Hissrad knew that he must have found it on one of their dead comrades, pilfering it before lighting the pyre.  The thought didn’t disgust him, it only served as a reminder of the little time that he probably had left._

_Uncertain if there was something Gatt expected him to say, Hissrad decided to fill the silence by caressing the side of Gatt’s face, knowing that those outside the Qun craved physical contact.  This was the first time he touched Gatt’s ears, discovering the magic of the delicate nerves along their length.  Gatt reacted instantly, sucking in a sharp breath and arching his back so this head leaned into Hissrad’s hand._

_Seeing the deadly warrior melt beneath his hands encouraged him to see more.  He kept touching, his fingers exploring every inch of exposed skin before finally peeling Gatt out of his armor.  He had spent so many months watching Gatt be consumed with hatred and anger that it was soothing to see him find bliss in something Hissrad could easily offer._

_Half naked, Gatt reached out for Hissrad’s horns.  Letting himself be pulled in, Hissrad studied the way Gatt kissed him, how his lips danced over his, the feel of the supple skin, the taste of his tongue, even the way his teeth bit gently.  Closing his eyes, he returned the kiss, mimicking the movements since he had no instinct for it yet._

_It had been nice, it was good.  A surge of heat built in him.  It was similar to when he had sex with Tamassrans, but this time it was more urgent, hungrier._

_Hissrad let Gatt use his body.  Gatt’s thin lips skillfully sucked him hard.  Bent over, Gatt’s tight ass squeezed around Hissrad’s cock, giving the elf the satisfaction he craved.  He needed this to calm his intense rage.  Gatt was happy with this intimacy, pleased that it came from his Kadan._

_Afterward, Hissrad held the lithe, exhausted man in his arms as he slept.  Even when fast asleep, the reflexive purrs rolled in his chest whenever Hissrad stroked his ears.  Hissrad needed to see that happiness still existed, that the world held other things besides misery and suffering.  That was how he accepted this intimacy.  During those dark times, Hissrad only ever smiled for his Kadan._

_They continued in this pattern as a method for coping with the chaotic madness that was daily life on the war-torn island until Gatt went too far one day.  He nearly botched an entire operation when he broke from the ranks to try and hunt down a Magister single handedly.  Leadership did not approve of his actions and had him sent away for discipline reinforcement training._

_After Gatt was taken away, Hissrad lost focus in the coming weeks.  There was no longer any release, no physical purpose to hold in his hands to remind him why he fought._

_One day, nothing made sense any longer.  All he could think to do was to turn himself in to the reeducators.  To find his place in the world once more._

Sitting in his room in Skyhold, doubt ate at him.  Would he fail the Inquisition with his involvement as he had Seharon?  As he had Gatt?  Bull let his head fall into his hands, the necklace pressed against his forehead.  He’d held the small object so many times, he could tell from touch how it was oriented. 

Gatt, his grounding center, his heart. 

Bull took care wrapping the token up once more, placing it back in its hiding spot.  Having it out was too painful, much less entertaining the idea of ever wearing it again.

The east door banged open.  He had thought he was ready to face her, but now that Praxis was here, he knew he wasn’t.

Standing with a stiff spine, he greeted her with a curt nod.  He followed her eyes as they surveyed his body.  Finding no major injuries, she observed his face and he felt that she could see right through him.  He knew beyond a doubt that he kept his expression neutral, but she had studied him every moment from the first day they met.  She could tell when he was hiding something.

The dread that had sent Praxis sprinting through Skyhold changed into a crippling fear.  The Bull was the strongest man she’d ever encountered, mentally and physically.  Yet, here he stood, broken.  There was nothing about his expression that told her, it was simply one of those things you could feel in a room.  The fierce momentum that brought her through the doorway drained quickly.  She slowly shut the door behind her.  Locked it. 

Leaning against the wood, uncertain what he needed, she hugged herself in worry.  “What happened?” 

Mechanically, Bull answered, his emotions too raw to add any intonation.  “The run turned sour.  A group of us knocked out some Venatori on the south shore, the Chargers took the north shore.  The dreadnought was closing in on the smugglers when a third band of Venatori came out of nowhere, closing in on the northern shore.”

“To save the alliance and the dreadnaught, the Chargers would have to face the third band, dying in the process.  Calling a retreat meant sacrificing the dreadnaught and killing any alliance.”

Praxis was hit hard by the news.  It was a horrific catch-22.  The dread became overwhelming, it paralyzed her, ice cold and thick.  She had to sit down. 

Taking a moment in the chair, she finally regarded Bull.  “How are you?  Are you alright?”

Bull was familiar with the way humans offered comfort, sympathy.  He might as well get it over with now.  “I’ll be fine.” 

Praxis leapt to her feet.  “Don’t you try to pull this shit with me.” 

Cocking his head at her unexpected reaction, he studied the way she looked at him, her mind more difficult to discern than ever.  She charged onward.

“A significant part of your life fucking died on that coast!  Either you watched your own countrymen drown or you watched the men you trained and lived with for years be slaughtered like cattle!  Don’t, just don’t fucking tell me that you’re ‘fine’”

She understood both sides, empathized with the decision he faced but never revealing which she favored.  What did she expect?  She’d only ever treated him like a tool, just as the Qun had, just as the Inquisition still does.  He was a means to stay close to Krem, a means of achieving orgasmic gratification.  Nothing more.  Why would she care? 

He hated her in this moment.  “Then why don’t you tell me what I should have done.”

“I don’t give a fuck what your choice was.  I’m asking you how you feel!  There is no good answer.  Both choices require sacrifice in blood.  You will never be the same man again and I want to make sure that you understand, that you are able to cope with that.”

How he felt? 

“I **feel** nothing.  I **am** nothing but what I have been trained to be.”

Praxis wanted nothing more than to scream.  She knew him, knew what sort of man he was and was furious he couldn’t see that for himself.  That he would try to credit the Qun for such admirable qualities, crushed her. 

“You are more.  The effect you have, the passion, the drive to excel, the need to save others from misery.  That’s you.  Whether you are a Qunari spy or The Iron Bull.  You will always be more than just a name or a title.”

Bull could see her pain, a pain she felt on his behalf.  It didn’t make sense.  He needed to clear his mind.  A clean slate to better approach the issue.

 

_Bull remembered calling the retreat as if it happened moments ago.  The relief on behalf of those in the Inquisition was exuberant.  The Inquisition cared about its people, knew them, loved them._

_Just as Praxis loves Krem._

_Watching the dreadnaught sink, Bull felt something die within him.  He no longer had a purpose.  He was nothing._

_Gatt was not pleased.  His heartbreak at the loss of the ship was evident in his choked up tirade.  “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are for what?  For this?  For them?”_

_Holding the Inquisitor back, Bull vaguely heard Mahanon spit back an insult.  Gatt’s anger pierced through Bull’s trance.  He had betrayed something in his expression that exposed the reason why he pulled his men back.  Gatt exploded._

_“I stood up for you!  And this is how you have chosen to ruin your life?  You betrayed your people, my trust, all for some damn woman?!”  Gatt pointed to the burning dreadnaught, moments away from sinking.  “Take a good look Tal-Vashoth.  One hundred and twenty good men are now dead.  All for some fucking **vashaden bas**!”_

_The slur stabbed at a sore spot within Bull.  True to the accusations of being a savage, he shoved Gatt, knocking him to the ground.  “Let’s go.  There’s nothing left for us here.”_

_Bull heard the last words that Gatt uttered.  They burned like white hot needles, making him feel the full force of his betrayal.  Gatt had given everything to him when he was Hissrad and now he was leaving him to be with someone who only saw him as a temporary solution.  Refusing to look back, he never acknowledged the only nickname Gatt had ever given anyone._

_“Kadan, no, please no.”_

_In Seheron, he had thought he knew what Kadanmeant, believed wholeheartedly that Gatt was his.  Now he was no longer certain._

 

“I watched **my** people die.”  The words still felt sticky in Bull’s mouth.  The fact didn’t seem _real_ yet.  “I **let** my people die.”

He couldn’t even find the strength to say what pained him the most, _I betrayed Gatt’s trust._

“Once you made that choice, they ceased being your people.”

Bull released a weighted sigh.  The uncomfortable twisting in his chest wrenched tighter to hear it come from someone else.   He wanted to hit something, someone.  The feeling only intensified when Praxis looked up at him, accepting of what was left of him as if she had any right to claim that she knew him.  Everything he did, every step he took, every word out of his mouth had been in service to the Qun.  Now he had no direction, nothing that held him to any standard to keep him civilized. 

“Without the Qun, I am nothing more than a vicious, savage beast.  Look at me.  I’m no better than one of those murderous bastards who turned their back on the Qun.  Tal-va-fucking-shoth, soulless dregs, incapable to adhering to the demands of good order.”

“Are you telling me that your men are nothing but villains?  That’s bullshit and you know it.  They are **respected** mercs because of your leadership.  Because of you, they have nothing to be ashamed of.”  She pulled hard on his harness to ensure he was paying attention.  “You didn’t take them away from Fisher’s Bleeders because you thought you could do better.  You did it because you knew the jobs he took on were dishonorable and that your guys deserved better.” 

This time she jerked harder at his leather, causing him to take a knee.  She could now look down on him slightly.  “Inamorato, if you truly were a monster, would I trust you enough to surrender to you every night?”

For the fist time since before the Storm Coast, Bull chuckled.  He was amazed how the simple act put him at ease.  A role.  This old role was all he had left.  He may as well continue with what little pleasure he could wrest from it.  He gave a heavy sigh as he felt himself begin to adjust and fit into this new life **he** had chosen.  The Iron Bull. 

“I can’t remember a night when you haven’t fought back at some point.  What part of that sounds like ‘surrender’ to you?”

Praxis cared for Bull more than she would ever admit out loud, but she was not naïve.  Knowing that he was a spy, that he had loyalties to another nation made him a liability and she had been careful.  As much as she enjoyed being dominated, she made sure to constantly remind him that she could and would fight back.  Now that he was removed from the Qun, everything became new again. 

“I no longer have a need.   I will always trust you.”  She fell to her knees before him, sitting on her legs she held out her hands, wrists pressed together.  “Please, The Bull, conquer me.”

An idea formed in his head.  With a lecherous grin, he accepted her plea by giving his first command.  “Stay.”

Taking his time, Bull walked to a chest in the far corner, retrieving a handful of items.  His excitement began to grow when he came back to Praxis still on the floor, in the uncomfortable position, arms outstretched.  He snapped a leather strap, enjoying seeing her flinch. 

“Say the word.”  Bull had to admit he was a bit impressed that she kept her eyes forward although he stood to her side and back a bit as he readied the gear.

“Katoh.”

The slightest touch from Bull was all she needed to adjust and move as he wanted.  Standing, her mind reeled with curiosity as he began to spiral the rope around her knees and ankles.

“Hands behind your back.”  A second cord held her wrists together and it too, spiraled up the length of her forearms, cinching her elbows close, almost painfully.  Her heart pounded fiercely.  She couldn’t get out of these. 

As if reading her mind, Bull stepped in front of her, using his hand to tilt her head to have their eyes meet.  “Are you afraid?”

“No, Ser.” 

He raised a sheathed blade before her eyes, she watched as he slowly pulled the blade free.  It was polished to the point she was staring at her own reflection.  She couldn’t imagine what he was going to do, but whatever it was, all she knew was that she wanted it.

Placing the tip of the razor sharp blade against her cheek bone, Bull watched as her eyes blinked slowly and her mouth parted with a faint gasp of anticipation.  His eye followed the sharp tip as it drew a thin pink and white line to the corner of her mouth.  When he pressed the flat of the blade against her lips, she pursed them to kiss the cool metal.  Encouraged, he set the tip on her chin and traced a new line along the curve of her face.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she savored the feel of the cold blade tracing along her jaw, then up around the back of her ear.  It wouldn’t take much more pressure to produce blood and in her helpless state, the thought made her chest tighten.  She became nervous as it trailed down her neck, tracing along her jugular, then stopping at the center dip of her collar bone. 

Without warning, Bull thrust the blade into the left side of her uniform and sliced it open, following the horizontal curve of her breast.  She gasped and for the first time, he saw a glint of fear before it morphed into desire.

He laughed slowly as he spoke.  “You like that, **Shokrakar**?”

“Please Ser, do it again.”

Even though she knew what was coming she flinched and squealed again when he cut through the other side.  After a few more smaller cuts, he’d mutilated her leathers to have her ample breasts spilling out of her uniform. 

Tapping the tip against her lips, he commanded, “Open.”

Obediently, she opened wide to let him set the blade in her mouth like a fabled pirate.  Any giggle that might have sprung from her at the thought died instantly when she bit down on the weapon.  Even the light touch of the corners of her mouth trying to rest against the sharp edge threatened to cut her.  She had trouble finding the delicate balance of a firm hold that didn’t slice her face open.  Bull was not making her task an easy one.

Bull reveled in distracting her from finding a comfortable way to hold the knife.  He took a knee, his hands freeing her supple flesh fully from the ruined garment.  Positioning his hands perfectly, he tested her concentration by running his thumbs lightly over her nipples.  She tried to arch, the ropes restricting her.  She tried to whine but the dagger hindered her.  The right thumb swiveled small circles over her nipple while his mouth consumed as much of her other breast as possible.  A few deep sucks, then he took her nipple between his teeth, biting down while his tongue flicked over the tip.

The dagger began to waver as she squirmed in his hands. 

“Don’t drop it or I’ll make you regret it.”  His stern voice had her snapping back up right as best she could. 

He feasted for as long as he wished.  Switching sides, plunging his face into the sweet smelling valley between.  Not only did he keep his hands on her to steady her weakening body, but to also feel the shivers run through her.  Each time he felt them, it stroked his arousal.  A wetness began to spread in his breeches. 

Praxis struggled to take the deep breaths her body demanded through her nose.  She finally had to resort to pulling back her lips to suck in air through her teeth.  Drool poured out and dripped down her chin.  Bull collected it with a finger to rub along her overworked and pert nipples, then blew over the moisture to send chills through her body. 

When the sensations stopped, she opened her eyes to follow the rise of Bull’s magnificent horns as he stood.  Looking up, she felt so small, weak.  She needed him, needed to feel his strength.  Relief flooded through the sore muscles in her jaw when he tenderly removed the dagger.  He cut the bands holding her hair back, she hissed in anger.  He knew damn well she hated to have her hair loose during sex.

“On your knees.”  His firm hands guided her to the floor, then pressed against her back to have her bend forward laying her face on the ground.  “Stay.”

Bull pressed the tip of the dagger into her leather breeches at the top of her ass.  Wedging it further, he was able to slice an opening down the center. 

“ ** _Maker!_** ”  Praxis screamed against the wooden floor, swearing for the first time to another god.  The idea of her mind already slipping into incoherent ecstasy pushed Bull to finally pull his throbbing cock out of his breeches. 

She could hear him stroking himself, the familiar wet, rhythmic sound trills of excitement up her spine.  A tingling heat burned in her already wet pussy.  Bull continued to cut access for himself through her small clothes.  She became impatient.  

“Please Ser, please fuck me.” 

The sincerity of her words was a pleasant change from their normal bedroom play.  He decided not to answer as he prepared the first toy for the evening.  A few oil slicked strokes and he began to slowly push the phallus into her asshole.

She screamed, a rattle forming in her throat from the force.

Another inch.

“Stop it!”

Another inch.

“Please!  I can’t!”

He slowly drove it all the way in without pause until the wide, flat base pressed flush against her ass.  Her fingers clutched helplessly at thin air, unable to do much else.  They’d never gone this far, only a finger once before, but this was more intense than she ever thought possible.  The sensation radiated out from the intrusion, sparking up her spine and clenching her lungs.  She struggled to take a full breath. 

Bull slapped the shit out of her ass, the small thrust to the toy made her shriek again.  He could listen to that delightful noise all night.  Reaching down, he grabbed her bundled hands and pulled forcefully to bring her head close to his.  She squirmed at the uncomfortable motion, but she dutifully stayed silent.  He licked the top of her ear, nipped at the lobe, then spoke softly, slowly into her hair.

“I’m going to fuck your cunt for as long as I please.  When I get bored, I will destroy your ass, ramming deep into you.”  Coiling a hand around her throat, he squeezed slightly.  “I will break you.  Is that what you want **Shokrakar**?”

He felt her heartbeat racing beneath his fingers, the tremors that shook her body already gave him her answer.  “Please Serrah.  I want to please you.”

Bending her forward, he let her head fall the last few inches to the floor with a thud.  He debated whether he wanted to taste how badly she _really_ wanted to please him but decided that he would continue the pretense of using her only for his pleasure. 

The last item he had left to use was a short sash.  Looping it under her waist, he used his extensive knowledge of anatomy to adjust its placement perfectly.  He curled the ends of the sash in his hands as he straddled her bound legs, then guided her ass back so his throbbing cock could easily forge into her.  Pulling on the sash and bucking with his hips, he slammed deep within her and held there. 

Praxis felt that her eyes were going to pop from her skull.  She could actually _feel_ the butt plug pressing against his thick shaft.  Then he eased back with purpose, slow and steady.  Then he hit it.  The sash squeezed her tighter around him to the point that when his bulbous cockshead found her g-spot she wailed.  The sweet euphoria slammed into her lungs, punching the breath from her. 

There it was.  He could feel it pressing against him.  He pulled the sash tighter and rubbed back and forth, dissolving her into a puddle of lust before him.  Her groans became deeper and faster.  Once he hit that magic point of no return he ruthlessly pounded into her.  Her body shook and her face dragged along the floor, her hair matted and clustered around her face.  Looking down, he enjoyed watching as her body wantonly juiced all around him.  When he saw the plug begin to slide in an out with his thrusts, he chuckled to himself.  Almost there. 

“Come on.  I’m ready to fuck your ass.  Cum for me little **Shokrakar** , cum only for me.”

She could feel it coming, welcomed the wondrous bliss of an orgasm wholeheartedly, but she was completely unprepared for the intensity.  Her body wanted to clutch around his cock, but was met the resistance of the plug at the same time which made her come harder than she thought humanly possible.  The ropes bit harshly into her as she struggled in vain to have her body explode with the same force.  Bursting into tears, screaming between sobs she wanted him to stop, to keep going, to hold her, to slap her.  She wanted everything all at once just to keep the feeling going.  He had teased once before, but now he had thoroughly accomplished the feat of fucking her blind.  Her world went dark and all her strength fled from her body.

With her body completely relaxed, the anal toy fell out.  Tossing it aside, Bull never broke his pace until he spilled within her, her body still pulsing from her orgasm, milked the last of his cum out.  He would never tire of how forcefully her body reacted.  The aftershocks of his own release throbbed through his thighs and down his legs to curl his toes. 

_Damn she was a good fuck._

He snarled a low growl, not wanting to let her primed ass go to waste, moved quickly to begin the next round.  She convulsed a bit when he pulled out.  Observing that her muscles were clearly fried and unable to help with anything, Bull scooped her up and laid her face down on the bed.  Using the dagger, he cut loose her arm ties so that only her wrists remained bound.  Flipping her over, he then cut through the remaining ropes as well as the waist of her breeches to have them come off easily.  He took her prosthetic off knowing that she hated to sleep with it on. 

Dagger in hand, he explored just how sensitive she was.  He traced the tip over the small scratches over her breasts.  The blade ghosted over her tattered top follow the outline of her hipbone, down to her inner thighs.  She writhed with a modicum of restraint, fully aware that any sudden movements would mark an end to the evening.  The back of her knees, down her calf to trace the back tendon of her foot.  Her ultimate test was pressing it along the bottom of her foot.  This tease of a known ticklish area caused her head to shake madly in the sheets.

Bull had what information he was looking for, logging away the good spots for another night.  He climbed up on the bed between her legs.  Grabbing a nearby pillow, he propped her ass up high to the point her knees bent. 

“Look at me.” 

Obediently, her weary eyes popped open and locked with his.  The simple gesture sent new life surging through his arousal, causing his tip to pulse and bead with liquid once again. 

“Don’t look away, you understand?  I want to watch as I wreck you.”  She tried to speak but only hoarse bubbles came out, leaving her to nod.

Bull reached back behind for a glass of water from the nightstand.  Of all the impressive talents Bull possessed, she was most thankful that he was able to quench her thirst without the water ending up in her nose.  Once the glass was returned, Bull rolled his head as if working out a kink, then rolled his shoulders, the smug grin on his face told her he was ready for round two.

He made one last pool of oil in his palm, but this time he applied it to his cock, sucking in a stilted breath as his nerves hadn’t quite recovered fully.  Positioning his cock right at her rim, he paused but a moment before sliding in with little resistance.  Her back arched then her head snapped up with wide eyes in disbelief.  He watched her open mouth pant, a small wish in the back of his mind wanted another man’s cock to fill the gaping hole.  Bull continued to press deeper and deeper, the new sheath for his shaft seemed warmer and was definitely tighter. 

Balls deep, he felt a small pleasant tug at his sac.  Praxis gave her first sly grin of the night at her initiative.  With her hands behind her back, they were in the perfect position to fondle him while he fucked her pretty little asshole. 

The first time he pulled back, she tossed her head backward into the sheets, growling through clenched teeth.  Every movement within her was more than she could bear.  She was constantly on the edge of actually using the watchword but with every stroke it got better and better.  Soon he had built her up to a blissful, steady rhythm.  Her clit was hot and wanting, denied the friction she needed.  Tears formed once again in her eyes, her body was desperate to soar once again.

Beneath him, she looked a pitiful mess.  “Do you want something more?”

“I only want what you desire.” 

He slowed, then pulled out completely.  Keeping his hands on her thighs, he could feel the disappointment.  Tightening his grip, he thrust back in to her, slamming home.  He did it again and again as her cries filled the room and her head tapped in a matching tempo against the footboard.  He knew it was somewhat painful, but she did her best to keep her eyes on him.  Tears streaked across her face, hair caught in her mouth, but she didn’t offer up the one word that would have him stop.  Knowing she gladly took this punishing pace, made him harder and even drew his balls up tight to his body.  He had to stop.  

Bull rolled over to lay on his back, bringing her with him.  Tied as she was, she relied on Bull to push her up off his chest as she straddled his waist.  His massive hands helped to raise her hips so he could impale her ass once more.  She wanted to stay that way, happy with the pleasant fullness that was even more erotic knowing he was rutting her in the ass. 

His hands glided over her hipbones, one trailed along to rest on her thigh, the other kept going down to her center.  “Up.”

When she rose up, the slide of his prick within her made her body guts tighten with pleasure.  Bull cupped his hand over her pussy, the heel of his palm pressed _hard_ against her clit, then his two middle fingers plunged into her curling against her wall while he made small circles with his palm.

“Fucking shit, Bull!  I can’t breathe.  This is insane!”  

Deaf to her words, he gave his next command.  “You’re not done.  Make me cum.”

She rode him as best she could, her muscles burned from the task and her nerves were frayed from his hand, his fingers and that wonderful cock.  When her legs began to shake uncontrollably from exhaustion, Bull took over.  She held rested on her knees as Bull bucked up into her wildly while his hand continued to coax and draw out her own aching need.

“Yes, please, yes, yesyesyesyes!”  She collapsed sitting on him, his fingers trapped within, but fully enjoying that telling pulse of orgasam as it coursed through her.   

“Don’t you fucking move!”  White specks of stars popped into her peripheral vision.  She squirmed to have his cock ride deeper within, sucking in a breath as her eyes pinched shut.  Every muscle in her body tensed to an almost unnatural level as she sat, enjoying the most explosive, lust crazed night of her life.

After a few moments, Bull gently rubbed her leg, “You good?”

With a lolling nod, she limply resumed an easier position for him to finish out in her ass.  The sight of her being blitzed from being so thoroughly fucked gave him the last push he needed.  When he came she gave out a milder ‘ _Oh-’_ as his spurts filled her asshole. 

Her mind was floating in a sea and her vision was glazed over.  The only thing she could register was the fact she was suddenly lying in bed, her wrists free.  Her muscles ached deliciously and she felt completely used.  When her eyes opened, all she could see was Bull staring back at her, triumphant. 

She smiled lazily back, “I have never felt so drunk in my life.  Am I going to die?”

A warm chuckle tumbled from Bull’s lips as his hand tucked sweat slicked strands of hair behind her ear.  “No, but we can try again in the morning.”   

Bull pressed a kiss to her forehead then he got out of bed to do some clean up before crashing for the night.  At the dresser, he managed a few dips of his cloth in the water basin before seeing it.

“Spitfire, do you have to keep bringing this ridiculous thing over here?” 

Praxis didn’t bother to look, the handstitched nug had been a point of contention ever since Krem fixed it.  “You were gone and I was lonely.  I need to have someone who’ll listen to my crazy.”

“I’d rather you just fuck one of the bartenders.”  Krem.  At least he hadn’t seen it before they had sex.  Nothing could kill a boner like the idea of your woman thinking of someone else while you’re pounding her senseless.

“Out of the question, they hate listening to people.”  Bull crawled back into bed and she curled into his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his chest.  “You leave again tomorrow, can’t he stay the one night?”

“Just the one, then I want that creepy thing out of here.”

“Speaking of the Chargers, where are they?”

“Boss had them knock out some odd jobs around the Hinterlands.  They should be back in a week or two.”  Bull wasn’t sure if she heard the full answer as she was fast asleep by the time he was done talking. 

He replayed the evening over and over in his mind, dissecting every word and gesture from Praxis.  He’d thought that they were using each other for mutual benefit, but the way she fiercely defended him, how she physically hurt at his torment, gave him pause.

Gatt surfaced once more in his mind.  Bull found himself stoking her hair as he had once done with Gatt years ago.  He knew that at the time he cared for Gatt, even felt regret now for betraying him.  When he recalled his times with Praxis he came to the conclusion that _this_ , whatever it was, was stronger.  

Bull spent his final conscious moments wondering what it would be like to have the love she reserved for that dirty Vint.

***

They had been traveling hard toward the Western Approach for days.  There hadn’t been much time for idle conversations as timing was critical, according to Hawke’s most recent missive.   

“Judging by Harding’s directions, we should reach Hawke and Alistair by tomorrow afternoon.”  Mahanon folded up the map with Hardings notes on a separate piece of vellum tucked inside. 

The group remained quiet, everyone tired from the pace that had been set for the entire journey.  They each took a seat around the campfire, waiting for the evening meal to heat. 

Bull’s mind wondered to Praxis as he searched for an answer that would help him push her from his mind so he could better focus on the mission ahead.  The only thing that was forefront in his mind was popping those damn button eyes off the stupid nug.  He felt Cole watching him.  When he looked up, Cole stared for a moment before turning to Dorian.

“He needs her message now.”

It hadn’t taken too long for Bull to become accustomed to the idea of Cole being a spirit of compassion and often times peering into the thoughts of other people.  Even with this knowledge, when Cole had moments like this, it was still fucking creepy.

Dorian smiled at Bull as he came and sit by his side, Mahanon eagerly leapt to sit on the other, apparently aware of what Dorian was going to give him.  The Inquisitor was bustling with excitment as Dorian pulled out a small rectangle of obsidian.

“Praxis gave this to me before we left.  Remarkable little device!  I have to admit that even I am impressed with the wonders her world can produce.  She assumed it was easier for me to hold onto it since I have a natural talent for these things.”

“She said that she spent a whole day teaching you how one of these worked.”  Mahanon goaded him, eager to point out when Dorian wasn’t as perfect as he professed.

“And I’m sure anyone else would have taken a week!”

Bull watched Dorian’s nimble fingers tap on the smooth black object.  The surface instantly illuminated in bright colors.  Mahanon gawked with the astonishment that Bull felt.  The images changed with each tap of Dorian’s finger.

“This is one of the few things that Praxis had on her when she accidently followed us through the rift.  This clever little thing has many functions but the one she has chosen for you, my dear friend, is the recollection of memories.”

With a flourish of his hands as he handed the object over to Bull.  “Don’t touch the screen or it’ll stop.”

Cradling it in his hands, Bull became entranced as images appeared.  They were all of the Chargers, one after the other, blooming to life, then fading to black at a consistent pace.  Bull saw his guys, training, drinking, laughing.  Some of the moments he had been present for, others not.  It was astonishing how lifelike the images were, he half expected them to speak.  In all of his life, he’d never seen common people portrayed in portraits.  Artisans were too expensive, even for a wealthy merchant.  To see his guys given an honor reserved for the richest nobles made him feel proud.  They were good men, the best. 

The final one showed Praxis’ face as she smiled up from the palm of his hands.  He almost dropped the object when she began to speak to him.  The message must have been captured the morning he left, her voice still raspy from overuse the night before.  “I know how difficult it can be when you’re separated from your family.  I hope this brightened your day a little.  I’ve read Harding’s report, the Western Approach sounds like it’ll be a bit shitty.”

Dorian grumbled, “An understatement of the Age.”

“I know you don’t care for clichéd sentiments so I’ll only remind you to protect the Inquisitor and come back safe.”  There was a tell-tale gleam in her eyes, but she moved too fast for him to warn the others.  Praxis pulled her shirt over her head to flash a wonderful glimpse of her perfectly rounded breasts, the nicks and bite marks from their last night together were still visible. 

“ _Gah_!”  Dorian turned is head away as he laughed in mock offense, Mahanon leaned in closer. 

Bull felt his doubt fade as he listened to her memory laugh at her own antics, grinning enthusiastically as she pulled her shirt back down.  “I hope you got a good laugh out of Dorian’s reaction.  I will miss your company, Inamorato.” 

She kissed her fingers then pressed them to the surface of the totem.  Forgetting Dorian’s warning, he touched his fingers to hers.  He half expected to be chastised by Dorian, but instead he gently took the item back to tap the surface.  “That’s the end of the message.”

A new quiet settled over the camp.  Mahanon moved to be next to Dorian, Dorian let Bull hold the totem with the image frozen to the moment after Praxis shared the kiss. 

“It doesn’t mean what you think it does.”  Listening to Cole speak was almost like listening to a gentle brook trickle over smooth stones.  His words were never loud but spoken in a manner that was impossible to ignore, always piquing one’s curiosity. 

“She holds the little nug tight, it calms her in the darkness, the loneliness fades.  It helps her remember because it **is** a memory.”  Cole’s meter was measured and thoughtful.  Mahanon tugged at Dorian’s sleeve and the two rose to give Bull some privacy.

That damn nug.  He knew she adored it, but Bull hated the reminder it represented.  Krem had made it for her.  Having it around reminded him that she still loved that Vint bastard.  He could better tolerate her sleeping with all of Skyhold than holding a candle for him.

“It doesn’t mean what you think it means.”  Coming closer, Cole looked at the image of Praxis.  “She was not able to capture that memory like she did those.  She regrets it, tries to keep it safe within the nug.”  Closing his eyes, Cole’s fingers danced a little as if he were unraveling a segment of Praxis’ mind. 

“Large hands hold me high, the delight in his eye, beautiful.  A scratchy kiss, crushed ribs, whispered words – _I think I’m in love with you._   Heart full to bursting.  She wanted to repeat the words.”

For Bull, the world stilled.  The day she tested the new trebuchets.  At the time he’d hoped the roar of the crowd had obscured his words that had spilled from him unguarded.   

“That day, you meant those words.  You want to say them again, but the memory of an elven gifts hurts.  You’re not sure if you know what it means anymore.”

When Bull touched the totem once more, the sequence of images began to appear again. 

“You once told her that you don’t have sex for love.  Why did you lie?”

“The Qunari don’t have sex for love.”

“Each time, in her mind, The Iron Bull makes love to her, mends her mind and steals her breath.”

“How could you possibly know that?  She’s not even here.”

“How do you not?” 

A box appeared over the pictures, stopping the playback.  “Dorian!”

The Tevinter returned, holding his lover’s hand, a smug satisfied grin on his face from whatever they had chosen to do while away from the camp.  Bull held out his hand with the totem, “If you’re not too busy stealing the Boss’ soul for some blood ritual, can you tell me what this means?”

Dorian straightened his back and grimaced at Bull before looking at the screen.  “And who’s to say it wasn’t the other way round?”

Mahanon punched Dorian roughly in the shoulder that the mage winced.  “I do.”

With a besotted smirk, Dorian finally looked at the words in question.  “Oh.  Well, this was bound to happen at some point.  I imagine she’s used it a few times since finding herself stuck here.  This message means the device is almost drained of all power.  Once that happens, it can never be used again.”

“Those memories will be gone forever?”  Mahanon asked quicker than Bull could process the depressing thought.

“Yes, unless it is connected to the right power source, but with us being here, and her world unreachable, I’m afraid you had best enjoy this while you can.  There are only minutes remaining before it dies.”  Dorian moved to pass it back.

A thought occurred to Bull.  “Are those the only memories on there?  The ones of the Chargers?”

Taking it back, Dorian tapped until he was satisfied.  He giggled to himself.  “I had forgotten we took these.”

The mage sat next to Bull and showed him images of he, Cullen and Praxis in the other world.  The backgrounds were difficult to comprehend as the trio tended to fill the small screen.  Dorian named each place where the memory was saved.  After a few pictures there was one of Cullen laying in a bed. 

“Creators!”  Mahanon gasped at the scene.  Cullen’s injuries were fresh, his face gaunt.  Bull had seen dead bodies that looked in better shape.  In this memory, Dorian stood at Cullen’s side, holding his hand.

“That was the first day I saw him after the battle of Haven.  I didn’t know she took our picture.”  At this point in time, the healers weren’t sure if he’d survive.”  Dorian didn’t linger on the sad image, pushing it away to move on to the next. 

“Ah!  Here’s a better one!”  In this one, Praxis sat at a table, flanked by two children, all three boasted wide grins.  “These are her precious nephew and niece, Joshua and Jenna.  I must confess they were quite taken with me.  Hardly anyone of that world wouldn’t know charm and wit if you threw it at them.” 

Mahanon nudged Dorian’s shoulder, teasing his arrogance.  “Oh, and I bet you threw it at them.  ‘Look at me!  Look at me!’”

Another box covered the image, tamping down the jovial moment.  Dorian deciphered the message.  “Bull, this is the last warning, if you wish to see the pictures she took for you, you had better look now.”

“No.  I’m good with this one.”

Dorian made the warning go away as Bull stared at Praxis holding the two children tightly at her sides. 

Happy, full of life.  Safe.  Loved.

“She’ll never see them again, when this dies?”  Bull kept his eye on the screen, burning every detail into his photographic memory.

With a shaky breath, Dorian finally understood the significance of her message for Bull.  “No, she won’t.”

She had known the object was dying and instead of saving it for herself, to have one last glimpse of the family she loved, she gave it to him, to remind him of his family.

“She wanted you to be happy.”  Cole voiced his thoughts, or hers. 

It didn’t matter.  Bull now understood that it was true.

Bull sat with his eye focused on the woman who had never used him.  The only person who truly loved him.

He never noticed when the others disappeared into their tents.  He was unaware that Dorian and Mahanon held each other tighter that night.  He never felt Cole holding his hand in the last moments of the totem’s life.

Staring at the black, dead object, Bull could see his reflection flicker from the fire light.

_Whatever I miss, whatever my regrets, I know that you are who I want to be with.  You are where I belong._

***

Well, that trip had been a complete fucking disaster.  Every time Bull thought about their encounter with the damn Magister and the damn Wardens and their DAMN DEMONS he caught himself grinding his teeth.  They had sent word back to Skyhold through Leliana’s people so Cullen could prepare.  The Boss wanted to march on Adamant as soon as possible.  No surprise considering the prospect of fighting a fucking demon army wasn’t the most pleasant idea.  The sooner and harder they hit, the fewer demons they would have to deal with, hopefully.

A day’s ride from the fortress, Bull stopped the group when he heard a noise up the path grow louder.  Multiple riders, setting a hard pace, were coming up fast.  The Inquisitor’s group took up casual defensive positions.  The riders weren’t trying to hide their presence which made it unlikely they were rogue bandits, but the Inquisition had enemies that had tried dumber tactics.  Once the riders crested the hill ahead, they were easily identified as Inquisition soldiers. 

A captain called his troops to a halt when they neared, “Inquisitor, thank the Maker you are alright.  Have you seen anything?”

The captain was tired, the horses slicked with sweat, foam sloshing from their bridles.  They had obviously been out since the first break of dawn. 

Mahanon steered his mount closer, “What word?  What’s going on?”

The captain spit a curse under his breath.  “Apologies Your Worship.  A crow was supposed to find you.  There was an attack on Skyhold.”

“Who was it and how serious?”  Mahanon’s temperament changed drastically as he commanded more information.  He was ready to take on whatever threat dared show up at his doorstep.  Bull liked when the Boss got like this.  Bull was ready to kick some ass after that whole demon crap.  The journey from the Western Approach had be extremely dull.  Getting in on some action sounded like a great idea.

“Qunari elven agents.  There were a few explosions in the courtyard, but they were a distraction.  The main one was above the tavern.”  The captain pulled his horse so he faced Bull.  “Your quarters were destroyed.”

Bull rolled his eyes with a groan.  _Well, that sucks_.  “Sorry Boss, I didn’t think they would attack Skyhold like this.  I assumed the Ben-Hassrath would only target me as a formality, letting me know that I’ve been let go from the Qun.”

The captain shook his head, sorrow burning behind his words.  “Ser, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but they did attack you.  Commandant Praxis has been taken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Adamant and Qunari shenanigans.


	15. Inamorato (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Cullen have to deal with Praxis' absence before the Inquisition marches on Adamant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this despite the delay, holidays tend to be hectic. Updates should now be on a near weekly basis.

“CHIEF!”  A series of coughs followed the strained cry. 

Bull leapt over the thick underbrush, zeroing in on his lieutenant.  If Krem hadn’t called out, the search party might have missed them.  They’d already been searching for hours, talks wavered between setting up camp or pressing on through the night before the trail got cold.

Krem had been tied and gagged and yet, somehow managed to chew through the leather.  Large gashes marked where the effort cut through his cheeks, his gums still bleeding.  The other soldiers were in similar states, beaten, bleeding, gagged.  They were left alive, but there was clearly no intention of making their rescue easy.  After Bull cut through Krem’s bonds, he helped the man ease into a sitting position.  The way his stiff muscles refused to move, Bull guessed they had been left bound like this at least a day.  Every one of them was in bad shape, dehydrated, starving, but they were alive. 

Bull slowly moved Krem’s legs, helping the stiff joints remember how to move.  In a gentle tone, devoid of any blame, he asked, “Where’s Praxis?” 

“Oh, Maker!  No, no…no.”  A nearby soldier who’d been freed as well, cried out as if in agony, then buried his face in his hands, failing to control the sounds leaking out between his fingers. 

“We tried, I swear Chief, we thought we could take them, but they were meeting up with a band of Qunari.”  The statement chilled his blood.  Assassins were a common method of eliminating those who turned their back on the Qun.  No real Qunari would lower himself to hunting down a Tal-Vashoth.  It was Bull’s turn to feel sick.  If she was taken by Qunari, it means they wanted her alive.

A steady, deep breath calmed him as best as he was able to manage.  “Krem.  Tell me exactly what happened, even details you don’t think to be important.”

With a firm nod, Krem eased himself to sit against a tree as he told The Iron Bull how things went sour. 

***

After the explosion at the tavern, Krem and the nearest guardsmen were mounted and out the main gates in a flash.  Krem didn’t want to give the kidnappers a chance to get lost in the woods halfway down the mountain.  Trailing them after that point would require skilled scouts and more time than they had.

After two hours of hard riding, they were finally gaining on their prey.  There was no question that the Inquisition horses were unrivaled in Thedas, it was only a matter of time before they over took the failing nags the bastards rode.  Krem heard a yelp, then a shout, then war cries.

The group was flanked by a band of Qunari warriors.  The unexpected attack after pushing the horses at full speed ended quickly.  Only one Inquisition soldier died, the rest were bound and taken captive.  A Tamassran clipped out commands to the group.  “Move on.  We need more distance before we can deal with these prisoners.”

Their armor was cut from their bodies and weapons left in the dirt.  The Qunari forces carried the captives over their shoulders and still managed to set a brisk pace.  Well into nightfall, they finally stopped.  The Inquisition soldiers were dropped on the ground like bags of laundry, most chose to sit up on their knees, waiting, unsure what would come next.

The only one who wasn’t with them was Praxis.  She was held by the elven traitors who snared her from Skyhold.  Krem recognized one as a servant from the tavern. 

Praxis had to twist her head to shout at the Tamassran.  “What will happen to the soldiers?” 

“It is of no concern of yours.”  The Tamassran’s voice boomed in the darkness.  She turned slightly to speak to the stoic elf next to her. Krem knew the elf from the Storm Coast, Gatt.  The Viddasala called him by his Qunari name.  “Salit, you have seen them fight, are these warriors worth keeping?”

Salit looked on the humbled group with disdain.  When he recognized Krem, he spit with anger.  “No.  They run from battle and are not worth the effort to have them reeducated.”  He turned on Praxis.  “She, however, is of some value.  She runs the logistics of the whole Inquisition.  Her skills and intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the Inquisition could be useful. She turned Hissrad from the Qun, which means she will need to be broken.”

Praxis squirmed despite her bonds.  “I’m not going to give you shit unless you free those men!”

The Tamassran narrowed her eyes on Praxis and spoke as though explaining the obvious to a child.  “Qunari do not negotiate.”

“You may want to reconsider.”  She tossed her head toward Krem.  “You see that Vint over there?  That’s Dorian Pavus, the Inquisitor’s lover. You take him and the Inquisition will not rest until he is brought back.”

“Praxis!  What the fuck are you doing!”  Krem yelled as stiff arms kept him kneeling on the ground.

“What do I care if they come for us?  They are no match for the **barrasad**.”

“That’s not in question, however, things are escalating with Corypheus.  A few days ago, the Inquisition received reports that he’s raising an army of demons in the Western Approach and plans have been put in motion for the Inquisition to put a stop to it.  If you take the Inquisitor’s lover, he will become distracted, changing focus that should be meant for the threat of unchecked magic.”  The Viddasala began to listen with more interest.  “He will want to hunt for him or if he’s found dead, then he’ll waste effort and time seeking revenge.”

“An illogical waste.”

“I don’t disagree with that, but I know you understand how we southerners idealize love.”  She kept her voice level, never pulling her eyes from the towering woman.  “You know that I’m telling the truth.”

The Vidasala gave the command with a dismissive hand swipe.  “We’ll leave the Vint here.”

“And the soldiers.”

“Impudent **bas,** you should know when to stop.  You’ve already overstepped yourself, do not try my patience.”

“They have a more immediate usefulness to the Inquisition than they do to you.  What good is a sword if there is no arm to swing it?  We’ll travel faster without them and in exchange for their lives, I will provide any information you need about the Inquisition’s supply and trade.  No resistance.”

“Praxis!  You- ”  Krem’s protests were silenced when a gag was forced into his mouth and tightly secured.  Rendered helpless, all he could to was scream against the grimy leather. 

“Whether or not you resist is irrelevant.”

Praxis laughed mirthlessly, keeping sharp eye contact with the Qunari woman.  “If you think this is the first time that I’ve been tortured, you’d be sorely mistaken.”

The Viddasala considered the proposal.  “I believe you.  It appears that Hissrad was not exaggerating his reports about you.” 

She bit off a few words in Qunlat, the warriors were swift to obey, gagging the bound soldiers one by one.  It wasn’t long before the group of Qunari were ready to leave. 

“A moment, Viddasala.”  Gatt interrupted the silence.  “I believe it appropriate to leave a message for the Tal-Vashoth who has been betraying the Qun since his first day with the Inquisition.  It will be more efficient than sending a team of assassins, which he will likely defeat anyway.”

Nodding in agreement, she permitted Gatt to walk up to Praxis.  He grabbed her by the collar, his face inches from hers.  Although his whisper was calm and smooth, a strong undertone of hurt and anger seeped through. 

“How dare you take him away from me?”  He tossed her to the ground, the air knocked from her lungs since her bound arms couldn’t cushion the fall.  “Why don’t we even things up a bit?”

The Viddasala gestured at Praxis’ prosthetic.  “Remove that.  It will discourage any thoughts of escape.”

Gatt stepped forward, cutting the straps of her fake appendage then stood to loom over Praxis.  “I stood up for him.  His betrayal shames me and I will have him know that there are consequences for unfaithfulness.” 

Gatt held his hand out to one of the barrasad who handed him a poleax.  As Gatt’s stance made his intent clear, the Inquisition soldiers burst from the ground, trying to fight their way forward.  

Staying true to his task while the warriors beat the soldiers back down to the ground, he laughed demonically.  “I know that The Iron Bull will feel this.  Never forget; you are not better than me!”

***

“Krem.  What did Gatt do?”  Fear clenched in Bull’s gut.  He had a guess, but he wanted to be wrong.

Shaking his head, Krem struggled to answer.  “I-It wasn’t quick.  It t-took a while to hack through the bone.”  Krem was losing the color in his face, his eyes reliving the gruesome moment all over again.  He sighed, his manner deadpan.  “He butchered her, Chief.”

Bull wrapped the cold, shaking man in his arms, knowing he needed the comfort more than Krem did.  “Don’t worry.  We’ll get her back.” 

Bull reluctantly pulled his head up from Krem’s shoulder, the Boss stood holding hands with Dorian.  Both ashen faced and saddened by Bull’s pain, but he still hated them for the comfort they had in each other, knowing that deep down they rejoiced in the fact they were still together.

Krem pointed to a mass of bushes.  “Chief.  They left you a message.”

Bull’s eye followed Krem’s pointing finger.  Flies swarmed ominously just above the ground.  When Bull reached the spot, his vision turned black and bile burned like acid in his throat.  Blinking his vision clear again, he realized he was kneeling in the dirt, his weight braced by his outstretched hands.  He forced himself into the rhythm of a mental exercise to calm his rage, hurt, distress, pain – all the emotions that threatened to overpower him and cause him to behave irrationally.  Falling prey to such madness would render him less than useful, he’d be a liability. 

Intuitively, he reached out to collect the only item worth keeping form the mangled mess of flesh and bone.  Once his composure was fully restored, he tied the leather strap around his neck, stood, then made his way back to the group.

“These soldiers are in bad shape, Boss.  We need to get them back to Skyhold and under the care of healers.”

Collectively agreed, the group turned their main focus to getting the soldiers able to travel back to Skyhold.  Once they were ready to head out, the Inquisitor took a quick inventory of everyone before giving the command to head out. 

Bull felt his gaze land on him.  He ignored it, hoping that Mahanon would let him be.

“Bull, what message did they leave?  Should we take it to Leliana?”

“No.”  Bull fingered the small oval of embossed tin that hung from his neck on a leather bootstrap.   “Not this one.”

Clearly uncomfortable, Mahanon shifted his weight on his feet, but pressed forward with his question.  “What was the message?”

“My betrayal of the Qun necessitates that I suffer, instead of outright die.”

"Then why did they take her?"

"They knew it would be the closest thing to killing me."  Praxis was gone.  Ben-hassrath spies under the direct command of a Viddasala would be extremely difficult to track.  They had her, and she was useful, which meant they would keep her alive.  He knew what they would do and he wished Krem had known to kill her. 

“I know what they will do to her.  I’ve gone through it as a willing participant.  She won’t be.  She’ll fight because that’s who she is.”  He took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm his nerves.  It was getting harder the more he thought about it.  “They’ll eventually resort to giving her Qamek.” 

Varric, Dorian and Hawke visibly cringed.  Mahanon’s concern escalated from their reactions.  “What’s Qamek?”

“It’s a substance used by the Tamassrans to turn someone who doesn’t submit to the Qun into a mindless laborer.  It’s preferred over execution.  Waste nothing.”

“I thought Krem said that part of the exchange was that she wouldn’t resist.  Wouldn’t that be better?  Wouldn’t that save her?”

He and Praxis had spoken a little about the Qun, she had a decent grasp of the basics.  She was able to draw some parallels to her homeland, but would she submit?  No.  As much as she understood the need for order, the Qun was too rigid for her.  She was too much like him, willing to work out deals underneath the table.  “I don’t know.  It doesn’t make sense that she would offer that.” 

Varric chimed in at the opportunity to change the subject.  “Regardless, if she’s telling them all she knows, we need to get back to Skyhold immediately to see what damage control can be done.”

***

When Skyhold was in view, a runner was sent ahead of the party to let the healers know to be ready.  Cullen greeted them at the gate, searching the faces of everyone who came in, patting a few on the back.  His expression softened once he had full accountability of the few missing soldiers. 

With his main concern addressed, he turned to the Inquisitor.  “Where’s Praxis?”

“She was taken by the Qunari.  We need to have a meeting as soon as possible to come up with a plan to have her position filled.  She offered up Inquisition knowledge to save the lives of our soldiers.  We need to act quickly to ensure that the information she gives is worthless to them as best we can.”  Mahanon was calm and authoritative, yet Bull noticed that after he spoke, his hand sought Dorian’s for strength. 

Cullen gave a heavy sigh as he rubbed at his neck.  “I hate when she’s right.”

Cullen waved his hand to have the group follow him around the corner to Praxis’ office.  “She told me that should she disappear, if she should die suddenly, that I was to talk to Dalton.  I had thought she was merely being dramatic.” 

In the office, a Captain sat behind the desk, reading through notes.  Bull recognized her as one of the captains who seldom worked with Praxis, doing odds and ends but never anything important.

Cullen stopped in front of the desk.  “Captain Dalton, the Commandant has been compromised.” 

The words had a predetermined meaning for Dalton since she rose from her seat and turned to the back wall.  The Commander followed her to a specific drawer that looked no different than any other.  The way he hesitated indicated that his proclamation was the fullest extent of knowledge he had.  Whatever came next, had been kept from him.  Another fail-safe that Praxis built in.  Not only had she planned for the possibility if she were compromised, but if the Commander was as well.

Dalton pulled a small rune from her pocket, which she handed over to Cullen.  As a Templar, he was able to activate it, which unlocked the drawer.  Inside, there was a hefty stack of papers that Dalton pulled out and set on the desk.  She began sorting it into smaller stacks as she explained how the reorganization would work.  Every detail had been thought out, multiple possibilities were explored and randomization built in to ensure that any information Praxis provided would be worthless.  A solution would be found and implemented before the day was done. 

Leliana came to stand next to Bull.  “Do you see it yet?”

Bull watched with renewed interest as Cullen and the captain laid out the paperwork, determining how to restructure the entire network, and Bull was struck with a sudden realization. 

Praxis had lied to him.  Everything she spoke about, all of her contacts, every report she left in his quarters, all of them were fake.    Bull stepped off to the side, leaning against a wall to laugh aloud.  She was never under any illusions, cleverly and correctly assuming he’d pass off the information. 

The loss of her stung more.

“Bull?”  Leliana’s voice pierced through his dark thoughts.  “I would like for you to know that she began the false reports long before I asked her to.  She said you’d understand.  Also…there’s a letter addressed to you.”

Breaking the wax seal which Bull knew to only be a formality, he began to read the coded letter.  It wasn’t a difficult algorithm, merely something to dissuade a casual observer from reading the contents.

 

**_Inamorato,_ **

**_I suppose it’s a bit late to say ‘I love you’ so I won’t._ **

**_If I have made my feelings for you unclear, that is my failing.  I shouldn’t have to rely on a letter to tell you that your honor, humility, affection and sense of righteousness set you above and beyond the ideal of a good man._ **

**_Never question that.  Never._ **

**_I will use this letter to confess._ **

**_I wanted to die that day on the battlements.  I will never forget how you stopped me; ‘honor them with your life’.  I could never find the strength to carry on for myself, but for them, for you, _ **

**_I did._ **

**_I hope that I honored the benevolence and passion that you shared with me during the short time we had together._ **

****

**_Your devoted Spitfire_ **

 

When he looked up from the letter, he met with Leliana’s genuinely sympathetic gaze.  She knew what the letter contained, because, of _course_ she did. 

Checking the date, it was written the day after his return from the Storm Coast.  Bull walked to the desk, using the surface to carefully fold the letter down to a size that would fit in his pocket.  “If you don’t need anything else from me, I need to go get my boys ready.”

“How soon will you be leaving to go after her?”  There was pain in Mahanon’s voice as he assumed Bull would behave as he would in the same situation.  “I’m sure Leliana may have some intelligence to go off of if you can hold for a bit.”

“We’re not going after her.  We go to Adamant with you, Boss.” 

The silence that fell over the room was thick.  Everyone knew that Bull and the Chargers would be helpful at Adamant, but they also knew how important Praxis was to him.  This decision surprised them all. 

_If they knew me like she does, they wouldn’t be._

“She made plans to compensate for this type of situation.  I will not dishonor her efforts by sabotaging the Inquisition’s chances and pull out your best shock troops.”  Tucking his precious letter into his breeches, he squared his shoulders, asserting his resolve on the matter.  “If there is a lead after the battle, then I will go.  Not before.”

Taking long strides, Bull left the office as quickly as possible without running.  He needed to be with his boys, with Krem.  He knew Krem would not be happy with the decision, but he’d understand.  Eventually. 

“Bull!”  Mahanon chased him down.  “Bull, you don’t have to do this.  I understand if you want to go after her.”

“I know Boss.”  Bull’s voice softened.  Mahanon really did understand, he was endearingly empathetic that way, made him a bit cautious with troop movements, but less prone to take unnecessary risks.  “As callous as it seems, we both know this is the right decision.  As soon as the battle is over…”

Mahanon pounded a fist on Bull’s chest that turned to a pointed finger.  “As soon as we **win** , you will go and bring her back.”

“Ah-haha!  Damn right!”  Bull clapped the Inquisitor on the shoulder.  “That’s why I like you Boss, always ready to kick some ass!”

Bull assumed his normal, carefree demeanor, hiding how viciously his mind was working on how the Chargers could be used at Adament.  He needed the distraction.  His default of the tavern was a poor choice.  As he approached the building, he assessed the damage from the explosion.

Nothing serious, repairs were already underway.  Most of it was cosmetic, the only major loss was his quarters and the one next to it which had remained empty due to thin walls. 

“Bull.”  He turned, happy to see Cassandra approach him.  “Bad news travels fast I’m afraid.  How can I help you my friend?”

Stroking his chin, he gave her a saucy grin.  “I wouldn’t mind getting knocked around later.”

“A-ha-ha.”  He liked the sound of her throaty, sensual laugh.  She was accustomed to his harmless teasing.  “I am no opposed to meeting you later, in the training ring.”

He shrugged.  “Worth a shot.”

“Will you come with me for a moment?  I have something to show you.”  Cassandra led him into the main castle to a hallway of resident quarters.  Producing a key, she unlocked a door then handed it over to him.  “Have you ever been here?”

She walked into the bedroom and ushered him in by opening the door wide.  “This was her room.”  In the window was a pot of violets and nearby was a frangipani tree.  Cassandra fingered one of the pink flowers from the shrub.  “She got these for you as a gift at my recommendation.  You do remember our conversation in the Emprise?”

_I enjoy fighting at your side, Bull._

_Same here, Seeker._

_But I will also enjoy returning to the base and sinking slowly into a steaming hot bath, sprinkled with rose petals._

_Oh, now you're just being mean! I mean, roses! Who has sex smelling like roses? Violets, or a nice frangipani, maybe._

 

Yes, he remembered.

“She was unique.  I had not thought her to be one for romantic gestures until she asked me about ideas.”  Cassandra dropped her hand from the flower, careful to not pluck it.  “Bull.  May I ask a personal question?”

Bull snorted with amusement.  “You already know my favorite sex scents, heard all my best pickup lines, I don’t see any reason to say ‘no’.”

The dark haired warrior remained serious.  “May I...may I read the note she left for you.  Leliana mentioned that it…” She scoffed at her romantic soft spot.  “It’s silly, I’m sorry I asked.”

“Sure.  Knock yourself out.”  Bull passed her the paper. 

Cassandra brought a hand to her chest and fell to sit on the edge of the bed.

“You okay Seeker?” 

“Has she ever told you what Innamorato means?”  When Bull shook his head, she answered.  “It means ‘to enflame and inspire with love’.”

She handed the note back.  “To have someone who is such a significant part of your life ripped away from you, I know your pain.”

Cassandra had opened up about her former lover not long ago.  Regalyan died at the conclave explosion.  She lost her love suddenly, with no parting words.

Bull walked to a corner where he saw a stack of crates with the burned salvage from his room.  “You know Seeker, you’re not doing the best job of cheering a guy up.”

“My apologies.  I let myself get carried away.”

“You could always make up for it by showing me your tits.”  That earned Bull a hit in the shoulder as Cassandra joined his side as he sifted through the crates.

“Ass.”

“You could so me that too.  I’m not picky.”  They chuckled while going through the meagre remnants of his former quarters.

There was nothing there that he was particularly attached to.  All of the items were replaceable: clothes, extra armor, sex toys…then he saw a fluff of white stuffing peering out from one of the crates.  He dropped the broken dildo in his hand and carefully dug down into the pile of junk.  Delicately he pulled out that damn nug Praxis treasured so much.  The stuffing was coming out of the neck from a small hole.  He was surprised the flammable little thing survived the fire.

“You both have a similar hurt and you never talk about it, yet as it swims inside you, the other knows how to catch it, removing it for a time before it finds its way back. It always finds its way back.” 

Cole’s errie voice made Cassandra jump and started to unsheathe her sword reflexively. 

“Yup.  Shitty thing about the past.  It keeps finding ways to fuck up the present.”  Seheron, war, death, constant disassociation to make it through one more day of blood shed.  Bull couldn’t argue that he and Praxis were drawn closer by the shared understanding of the brutality in the world and the fact that neither talked about it; the moments when violence was necessary, cherishing the times when it wasn’t, as if every day would be the last.

“A bloodied past, soaked in death and yet pressing forward, marching onward.  A warmth, a reminder to find joy, to be happy.   The strong feeling that not everything is dark.”

Bull collected the little nug before heading for the door.  He couldn’t sleep here.  He’d stay with the Chargers until Adamant.  “I should have told her.”

“She wanted to tell you too.”  Cole hesitated, a word tilting on the tip of his tongue. 

Bull gave him some encouragement.  “Just spit it out if you have something to add.  Nothing’s ever stopped you before.”

“An understatement to be certain.”  Cassandra was still uncomfortable around Cole when he did his _thing._  

“She never said it because she didn’t want to sound like a pussy.”  Cole cocked his head to the side, as though he didn’t understand the meaning of the words he repeated. 

Cassandra grunted at the comment while Bull laughed harder than he would have thought possible.  “Yeah, I don’t think she’d sound like much of a bad-ass after that.”

“I don’t understand, The Iron Bull.  Why does she not want to sound like a cat?”

Now Cassandra stifled a giggle.  Bull wrapped his arm around Cole’s shoulders as they walked out of the room.  “I’ll tell you when you’re older kid.”

 

Later that night, Cullen found Bull alone by the campfire in the Charger’s beddown area.  All of his boys had gone down for the night.

The Commander didn’t say a word as he sat next to Bull, but he knew what was on his mind.  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.  Does everyone have to talk about it?”

When Cullen tried to hide his hurt expression, Bull remembered that he was one of her closest friends.  Praxis had done a good job of ensuring her work was covered, but that didn’t replace the time she used to spend training with Cullen. 

“Sorry.  I guess I’m still on edge about it.  What’d you wanna talk about?”

“I don’t know.”  Cullen stood and paced near the campfire.  He rubbed at his neck nervously until he mustered up the courage to say his piece.  “I feel guilty for what we did, especially now that she’s…”  He couldn’t finish. 

“I’m always astounded how many cultures define the culmination of an intimate relationship with sex.  As if the only way to express love is with sex.  When I fucked you, she didn’t care, that doesn’t matter.  I could sleep with the whole of Skyhold and it wouldn’t fucking matter.  What we have is more than that, more than the binding rituals of the humans or elves, than verses, and vows.” 

Bull wanted to laugh at the expression his answer put on Cullen’s face.  It was not what the Commander had expected.  He watched as the concept fermented in the blonde’s mind, ripening to his next question, “So, she’s never told you that she loved you?”

“Bah.”  Bull scoffed dismissively.  “I’ve never needed her to say that.  Words are nothing.  She makes me _feel_ it in the way she treats me, that’s how I know.”

They sat in silence for a while.  Cullen lost in thought.  Bull enjoying watching the man think.  It was a decent enough distraction.

Evntually, Bull could feel the day catching up to him.  He rose to take up his spot in Stitches’ tent when Cullen spoke to the waning fire.

“All my life the Chantry held all the answers.  Told me how the world should be, what mages were, what life should be.”  He took up a nearby canteen of water to douse the flames.  Cullen walked to catch up to Bull, stopping at his side.  “I don’t know what to think any more.”

“Then don’t think.”

Cullen grinned, recognizing the echoed words from their night together.  They parted ways, both heading towards a night’s rest, alone.

***

Days later, Cullen stared blindly at the map laid out on his desk.  He’d looked at the bloody thing enough over the past two days to have it permanently burnt to the back of his eyes.  Pushing off from the desk, he began to take his armor off.  The moons were high in the night sky, but Cullen knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.  He’d had barely a few hours stitched together since Praxis was taken.  The sessions they had together proved to be rather therapeutic in calming his own nerves as well as curbing her need for a numbing drug.  Templar training seemed to be a side benefit more than the main focus. 

They both needed their escape.

At a knock on the door, Cullen donned his shirt once again since he wasn’t sure who would visit him at this hour.  He’d prefer that if it was one of his men, that they not see the reminders of his time at Kinloch.  People always wanted to ask questions of his scars that he never wanted to answer. 

“Alistair?  What are you doing up at this hour?”

The Warden invited himself in to Cullen’s office by sliding past the baffled Commander.  “I see that I’m not the only one who has a case of pre-battle nerves.”  He chose to lean his rear against Cullen’s desk, hands resting on the edge.  “You’d think a couple of veterans like ourselves would be used to this by now.”

Cullen’s gut reaction was to dismiss the remarks then create a valid, important excuse for his keeping such late hours the night before they marched to Adamant.   Looking at Alistair, remembering the boy he once played with, the man who saved him, Cullen refused to lie.

“One would think.”  Cullen watched Alistair walk past the bookshelves, staring at the spines but not truly reading the lengthy titles. 

Alistair stopped his pointless stroll by flopping down in Cullen’s chair with a sigh.  “Soooo…”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Cullen pinned his hands down to keep them from rubbing his pounding headache. 

“How are you enjoying the _freedom_ of being away from the Templars.”  The way Alistair said it, the way he lingered on ‘freedom’ had Cullen puzzled.  He hadn’t said anything to Alistair about quitting lyrium.  In terms of personal time, his new duties offered few moments. 

“I can’t imagine…”  Cullen’s breath caught in his throat.  His heart slammed against his ribcage.  Involuntarily, he released a breathy sigh.  “Oh, blessed Maker.”

Alistair grabbed at his balls through his thin breeches, tugging them downward to have his erection press up against his trousers, every detail straining to be seen through the fabric.  He purposefully sucked in a breath through his teeth.  “Something I learned during the Blight was how to release tension.  You care to… _ahhh-_ release some tension?”

Alistair’s smile was bright and cheerful.  He may as well have asked Cullen to indulge in a piece of rich chocolate cake.  Bemused, Cullen tried to delay an answer.  “This is what you learned from the Hero?”

“No.  Actually learned it from an assassin traveling with us.   He was quite knowledgeable and really, _really,_ enjoyed sharing his knowledge.”  Alistair picked loose the lacings and then slipped his hand beneath the fabric to fully grasp himself. 

Cullen wet his lips, stalling for time.  He thought on his conversation with Bull a few days ago; don’t think.

Sex wasn’t love. 

Cullen had been convenient back in Kirkwall and once he took the opportunity to change his life for the better, Hawke resented him for it. 

Hawke wasn’t love. 

Letting go of the stigma that the Chantry had taught him to attach to sex, he felt as if a chain holding him back was broken.  Accepting that sex could be only that, he wanted it more. 

Cullen stalked up to Alistair with a smirk on his face.  “You really think you’re going to teach me something.”  He was thankful it came out sounding more confident than he felt.

Chuckling, Alistair rested his elbows on the arm rests, raising his hands in mock offense.  “Prove me wrong _oh, mighty Commander_.”

Alistair had to quickly grab at the arm rests as Cullen roughly pulled his breeches and smalls down to his ankles.  There were no more coy words or teasing glances.  The Commander fell to his knees and swallowed the Warden’s cock.  The tip pressing into the soft flesh in the back of his throat.  Cullen’s hands dug into Alistair’s muscular thighs, pulling the man’s crotch closer to his face as his arousal swelled further to fill his throat.

This was good.  Better than good.  Cullen ceased to think, his headache gone or forgotten.  Either way, it no longer bothered him.  Nothing did. 

_We understand that tomorrow is not a promise.  We’re on borrowed time as it is.  I will not sit and wait for some fanciful ‘happy ever after’_

Praxis had the right of it.  Cullen had waited and was punished for it.  No longer.  He was free.

His mouth sucked downward so his tongue would swipe at Alistair’s sac then his lip wrapped teeth pressed up the entire length to have his tongue flick over the dripping tip.  The sounds that came from Alistair made his own prick beg for attention.  A few more deep sucks, then his body couldn’t stand the wait any longer. 

Cullen stood to pull his shirt over his head.  Alistair used the break to pull out a vial of oil from his crumpled breeches, then kicked the useless clothing to the side, freeing his feet to spread his legs wider.  He slouched lower in the chair and with an oil slicked finger he began to trace a line over his body, beginning at his asshole, “You want to give me something…” then moving up to have his fingers grip his rock hard cock.  “Or shall I service you, _Co-mmmaan-der._ ”

The way Alistair said his rank was as if it were a lollipop that he suckled on as long as possible to savor the flavor.  Finally divested of what little clothing he was wearing, Cullen growled deep in his throat as placed his foot on the edge of the chair between Alistair’s legs and shoved it the short distance to slam against the wall.

As if reading his mind, Alistair began stoking himself enthusiastically.  Cullen sat in the Warden’s lap, his legs spread, he propped his feet up on the desk.  Using the arms of the chair, he lifted his body up to then impaled himself on Alistair’s slick cock, letting his ass fully engulf the Warden.  Alistair’s hand snaked around his waist to firmly grip Cullen’s raging cock, stroking at the same pace as Cullen’s undulations.  Cullen had always preferred being on the receiving end, but this position gave him the control he hungered for. 

Cullen focused entirely on how this made him feel.  The fullness, the pressure, the excitement of being caught.  He knew none of his doors were locked.  Leaning his head back on Alistair’s shoulder, the Warden took the opportunity to suckle on his ear, his neck and even lick at the stubble along his jaw. 

Eventually, Cullen stared down, watching the other man skillfully jerk him off.  If he moved just right, he could watch both Alistiar’s handy work and the man’s cock disappear within him at the same time.  The sensation was incredible.  He slowed down the pace to ensure he felt Alistair plowing, wedging his way through the tight space that he made smaller by clenching his ass cheeks. 

“ _Fuck!_   I don’t need you snapping it off.”  The warning was a tease since it was followed by a lusty moan from Alistair.  The noises he continued to make pushed Cullen to speed up, to begin reaching out for that glorious moment of completion. 

When Cullen began to pant harder through his open mouth, Alistair’s hand quickened its pace.  He thrust his hips hard to plant himself deep within Cullen, rocking hard enough to remind him that they were one. 

With an unrestrained cry, Cullen came sputtering across his stomach in thick white wisps.  Weakened from the sensational punch of his orgasm, his feet fell weakly to the floor, giving Alistair the opportunity to stand.  He shoved the breathless Cullen up over his desk, items crashed to the ground.  Cullen didn’t care, he just wanted to feel it again.  That astonishingly hot, magical fluid that would fill his ass, adding to his orgasmic high.

The next few sweaty thrusts were bliss.  His body was already high on sex and the continued pounding made the ends of his nerves crackle in pleasure.  He momentarily considered doing this all night, inviting every man in Skyhold to come and keep him in this blitzed state.  Then, Alistair came hard.  He growled then slapped each of Cullen’s ass cheeks.  The Commander didn’t react.  He honestly wanted to melt into the floor and let the feeling wrap him up in a deep sleep. 

Alistair let out a whoop of satisfaction.  “Oh Maker, why weren’t we doing this as recruits?”

Cullen spoke with his head still pressed to the desk, his foot blindly hooking onto his chair’s leg to drag it beneath him.  He flopped down in it as he spoke.  “You don’t recall the sisters putting the fear of the Maker into us for even _thinking_ about such thing?  ‘He’ll smite you with a bolt of lightning for soiling his creation’.”

Laughing heartily, Alistair finished dressing.  “I’ve since learned there are worse things in life than earning the Maker’s ire.  I’ll take my chances that He might _actually_ grant me a happy ending.”

Death.  The definitive end to all suffering, every bad memory, and each painful mistake.

“Don’t I know it.”  Cullen thought he mumbled it, but apparently it hadn’t been low enough.

“We’ll be with you, Hawke and I, for the siege.  You won’t stand alone against the demons this time.”  Alistiar’s hand kneaded Cullen’s shoulder for reassurance. 

Alistair waved his goodbye and slipped out the door.  Cullen had thought to call out to him, ask him to stay the night.

That wasn’t meant for him.

That’s what lovers did and Cullen Rutherford didn’t have a lover.


	16. The Fade (ART)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke learns of Cullen's demons during their time in the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of blood, gore, psychological torture, and murder.
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to [Pixievhenan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pixievhenan/pseuds/pixievhenan) for her beautiful fanart!!

The Chargers had done better than expected.  Cullen’s forces were given a prime opening to flood the fortress and quickly take control with minimal losses.  The greatest threat was the damn archdemon that had descended on them.  It spat green fire which was an instant turn on for Bull.  He watched it soar and dive, looking for patterns of behavior to exploit.  Covered in bits of gore and soaked in blood, he stayed ahead of the Inquisitor’s group, plowing through demons and Wardens alike. 

Bull tried to ignore the way his skin crawled when he looked at them.  He focused on the armor, thankful most of the sorry bastards wore helms to hide their faces.  It shielded Bull from the fact that this was an army of men who had been manipulated by demons.  He cut through the shells of armor, encouraging the feeling of disgust as blood sprayed out with force.  That other feeling, the one that tried to poke through, he tamped that down with each body that crashed to the ground in pieces.

Fear.

It wouldn’t go away.  Only an idiot would think that it would.  He acknowledged it and did what he knew to do that would keep the emotion within _his_ control; by shrinking the army one by one.  It was his will alone that pushed him onward through the battle, his decision to kill and his choice whom.  No one, not even some damn demon, would ever force his hand.  He was no longer anyone’s pawn.

Going after the gross looking, nug-shit crazy ‘Vint who was manipulating the Wardens seemed to be the final step to ending the battle.  When they closed in on him that’s when it appeared again.  The dragon wasn’t fucking around this time.  Bull only managed to get in a few good hits, but nothing that could slow it down before the ground crumbled away from beneath their feet.  They were all falling in a shower of debris as the fortress crumbled into a chasm. 

Not his choice of death, but at least the last thing he was taking a swing at was a dragon.  He could do worse.

Bull could feel his blood pulsing within his veins.  The tips of his fingers felt as if he were picking up shards of glass and is teeth tasted metallic.  He’d have never guessed death felt like that until his body slammed into the ground.  Alive.

Up on his feet as fast as possible, he looked around and quickly realized that death probably would have been better.

“Where are we?”  He turned at the sound of Hawke’s voice. 

There’s one.  Looking around, he saw Mahanon, Varric, Hawke, Alistair, and Cullen.  He didn’t like the feel of this place.  Nothing had a smell.  There were things everywhere, dirt, rocks, water, slime.  Nothing had a scent to make it _feel_ right.  It was as if he were walking through a painting.

Varric nocked an arrow in Bianca.  “Is this the Fade?”

“Not any part of the Fade I’ve seen.”  Cullen also readied his sword and shield. 

“It is the Fade.  I remember from before Haven.  This…this isn’t good.”  Mahanon checked his bow for any damage after the fall.  “Did anyone see Dorian?”

“He wasn’t on the ground level with us.”   Cullen probably had the entire battle field mapped out in his head, able to pinpoint where any given person was supposed to be.  “He was standing on one of the ramparts for a better angle of attack or provide defensive barriers as needed.” 

Mahnon nodded and was visibly relieved to know that Dorian was safe.  “We need to find that rift from the courtyard.  It has to be nearby.”

“Oh, this is shitty!”  Bull took up a protective position next to Mahanon.  “I’ll fight whatever you throw at me boss but nobody said nothing about being dragged through the ass end of demon town.”

Alistair spun slowly as he took in the currently quiet landscape.  “Maybe the Fade ran out of them.” 

Bull stared at Alistair, curious if the man really was serious.  “You’re fucking kidding me right?” 

Alistair only shrugged apathetically before joining the others as they headed in the direction of the familiar ‘rift green’ light in the distance.  The terrain was rocky and difficult to cross since there were numerous bogs and streams of shitty Fade water.  They climbed up and over odd rock formations uneventfully until they were suddenly surrounded by an eerie voice.  It was everywhere but held a volume as if someone were standing next them.  The voice was dark, slow, and each word sounded as if it oozed from a diseased mouth.

**_The elf and his Tevinter lover.  Or.  Is it the other way round?_ **

Bull growled and kept his head on a swivel, but he couldn’t pinpoint where the voice was coming from.  “What kind of spooky shit is this?”

“It’s a demon.”  Cullen answered.  “I’m not sure what kind.  Stay alert.”

**_Herald.  You think you know him.  But he will leave you.  He has plans and he will let nothing, not even the mighty Inquisitor get in his way.  The Imperium will rise from the ashes by his hands, better without you._ **

“I would never stand in his way.  He has his own aspirations as anyone should.”  Mahanon was on the defensive, thinking reason would stop the verbal assault.

“Don’t let him get to you Inquisitor.”  Cullen has his sword drawn but didn’t hold it at a ready stance.  Of everyone present, he was the only one who seemed the least unsettled by the experience.  “I know demons and this one is baiting you.  It’s best to not answer its taunts.”

 **_He will step over you, leaving you behind in the wake.  Alone.  Forgotten.  Unwanted.  Nothing but an amusement until he can move on to better things._ ** **_How does it feel to be a Magister’s plaything?_**

Bull growled deep in his chest, he stood closer to Mahanon but kept his weapon at the ready.  The frustration of listening to a voice that had no form to attack left a sour taste in his mouth.  “Don’t listen Boss.  You know Dorian isn’t like that.  It’ll say anything to get a rise outta ya.”

“Even the truth.”  Mahanon sounded dejected as he nearly choked on the words.

Bull jerked his head to face the Inquisitor and saw the moment that the demon broke through.

**_When the world no longer has a need for the Inquisition, he will have no need for you._ **

“Come at me!  You think you know us?  Come at me!”  Cullen called out quickening his pace as though their location had some bearing on who the demon chose to attack. 

 ** _Commander_** **.**   The laughter was darkly amused.  **_Are you sure that is even who you are?  Another man’s heart beats in your chest.  Do you still feel nothing?  You are no man.  A freak.  An abomination of your own making._**

An army of Templars appeared from the mist ahead of them.  Their armor was more formal, not what would be seen on a battlefield.  In unison, the Templars removed their helms to reveal unique faces. 

Cullen tightened his grip on both sword and shield.  “Onward.  We need to get out of here.”

The Inquisitor’s group followed as the Commander stepped past the first Templar.  The manifestation’s head watched Cullen, turning his body as they passed.  It was creepy as fuck, and it soon got worse.

“ _Why didn’t you save me Cullen?_ ” 

Cullen ignored the fake Templar and marched onward.  Now, the fake Templars were reaching out and tugging at him. 

_“Why didn’t you try?”_

_“Why couldn’t you have found help?”_

_“Why did you kill me?”_

Some of the fakes were crying in sorrow, others in pain.  Cullen tried to shove off the growing crowd that descended upon him. 

**_So determined, so headstrong.  What did that strength do for you?  You slaughtered your brothers.  You murdered your lover._ **

“I’ve done it once I can do it again.”  Cullen had no choice but to start attacking the impassable crowd.  “This isn’t real.”

**_But it’s easier this time isn’t it?  The heart of another man beats in your chest.  You once knew love, but never again.  Your body doesn’t even know what that is any longer._ **

Mahanon shouted his command, “Get Cullen out of there!”

Once his words were uttered, there was crack of lightning then the ground rumbled beneath Bull’s feet.  Large rocks grew from the ground, jutting at odd angles to separate Cullen from the group.

“Cullen!”  Alistair was in a panic, more so than the Commander.  The Warden took his sword to the new barrier, even tried ramming his shoulder into it to find a way through.  “CULLEN!”

“C’mon Warden, that’s not working.  We’ll find another way around.”  Varric peered through one of the holes between rock formations.  “Besides, it looks like he’s able to handle it so far.”

“NO!  You don’t understand!  Those are the Templars and mages from Kinloch!”  Alistair began to run along the length of the wall, feeling it he went in hopes of finding a weak spot.  “Ten years ago, demons took over the entire Circle.  They captured Cullen.  They tortured him by manipulating his fellow Templars, making them hallucinate so they would attack him.  He had no choice but to fight for survival.”

“Well, That's... gruesome.”  Varric looked to Hawke.  It seems that even though they both knew Cullen in Kirkwall, neither of them knew this about him.  “So he had to kill them?”

They all paused momentarily when the cries turned to blood curdling, the last shrieks before death. 

“Yeah.”  Alistair swallowed hard.  “All of them.”

The group finally found an opening and ran down the path, tracking back toward Cullen.  It hadn’t felt like a long time, but the bloodied field before them attested that it had been long enough.  The bodies of Templars and mages lay cut open on the ground, their blood mingled to form puddles. 

“It’s just as I remember.”  Alistair scrunched up his face in disgust.  He looked up to see that there was only one mage left who continued to attack Cullen.  “Maker’s breath, no.  Not again.”

They had to leap over the bodies to reach the Commander.  Their feet sank into the blood wet mud, splashing up on their boots. 

The mage spoke to Cullen in a raised, pained voice.  “Why didn’t you save me?  You failed me!”

The spells the mage used were weak, only enough to keep Cullen on the defense.  Enough to keep them in a deadlock so the Commander could hear what the man had to say.

Alistair struck at the mage from behind, running him through as the man screamed in agony. 

“Wait!  No!”  Cullen cried out, dropping his sword and reaching for the corpse. 

Alistair left his sword buried in the Fade body and rushed Cullen, pushing him backwards to get him as far from the body as possible.  “That wasn’t him.  That wasn’t Deylan.  It wasn’t him.”

**_You failed to protect your lover as you will fail to lead the Inquisition to victory.  You are weak, pathetic._ **

While Alistair worked to calm the Commander, talking him back to reality, Bull noticed Hawke staring at the field of bodies.  “I thought you would have been used to shit like this after Kirkwall.”

Hawke swallowed thickly and shook his head.  “Those were bandits, murders, mercenaries…never like this.  Even when Kirkwall burned, it didn’t get this bad.”

Bull only offered a curt nod of understanding.  Not all death was the same.  There was something about this scene that struck a chord with the Champion.  Something happened between him and Cullen that Bull didn’t know about.  His training wanted him to delve into it deeper, but time was running out.  The Nightmare was starting to really get into people’s heads.  They still had a way to go.

As if reading Bull’s mind, Mahanon called out his command.  “C’mon, we need to get the fuck out of here.  Just over that ridge and we should be close.”

“Right behind you, Boss.”  Bull couldn’t agree more.  He looked over and saw that Cullen was coming to his senses with Alistair supporting him.  Everyone was ready to move on.

With the help of some weird ass spirit that looked like the dead Divine, they found a way to the rift.  Bull should have known that it had been too quiet when the Nightmare began to talk again.

**_Her insanity will infect you.  Her memory loss, her need to be constantly drugged to function day to day.  Honestly, nothing but a burden.  You need to dispose of her._ **

“Don’t listen.”  Cullen sounded as though he were back to himself.  Praxis had mentioned to Bull that she took some potion with Cullen to help take the ‘edge’ off.  “I know what she takes, it’s mild and I’ve been cutting the doses, at her request.”

Bull had never worried about that.  He became friendly with Cullen’s supplier and ensured that the doses never increased.  It was when the Nightmare mentioned her that he wondered if she were still alive, if she were still sane.

 ** _You think she is safe from me because she cannot enter the Fade?  It is you who is not safe.  You cannot_** **_control her madness.  It will grow and spread.  She will infect you like a disease and then when you are your weakest, I will be there to take you.  And her.  I can give you purpose.  I can be your Qun.  Let me wear your body._**

“Keep moving!”  Mahanon’s voice boomed loud enough that Bull jerked his head toward the Inquisitor to be sure it had actually been he who spoke.

No one offered an argument as the Inquisitor took the lead and charged forward through the Fade tainted landscape.  They were nearing the rift when they came upon a wide open marsh that was filled with tombstones.  At first, everyone ignored them, until Mahanon stopped at one.  Bull glanced down and saw Dorian’s name and the word “Temptation” inscribed beneath it.  Intrigued, he looked around and found one with Varric’s name – “Become His Parents”.  He continued to walk forward, trying not to read the rest, but it was impossible.

Solas – “Dying Alone”

Iron Bull – “Madness”

Praxis – “Giving Up”

That one made Bull stop.  He thought about her letter, pressing his hands over the pocket where he kept it.  There had been so many opportunities, so many reasons for her to simply end it all. 

 ** _She could have died happy at your side.  Instead, she is being tortured by your people, learning to hate you.  She will never want you._**  The cackling that ensued was bone rattling.  **_That is, if she lives._**

“There!  Just beyond the arch!  I can see it!”  Mahanon’s happy cry lifted everyone’s spirit as they abandoned the dismal bog to scramble for freedom. 

But of course, nothing is ever so easy.  As they rushed for the rift, a monstrous abomination rose from the ground to block their path.  There was no killing this thing.  It was too large and too powerful.  The entire group would die in the attempt.  That much was clear instantly. 

“How will we get by?”  Alistair asked the obvious question but everyone knew the answer.  They needed a distraction.

“Go.  I’ll cover you!”  Hawke offered

“No!”  Cullen grabbed Hawke’s arm as if to pin him to the spot.  “I can’t lose you too, not when I had the chance to…”

Hawke jerked his arm free.  “The Inquisition needs you!”

“C’mon asshole, while the abomination is still fresh.”  Bull grabbed Hawke by the arm and pulled him away from the rift.  Away from safety.

Hawke wrested free to snatch up Cullen by the fur of his pauldrons and kiss him soundly on the mouth.  Hawke pushed Cullen away as he gave his last words.  “I’m sorry.  For everything.” 

Meantime, Bull turned to Mahanon as he held on to her dog tag around his neck.  “Tell Praxis, I did as she asked.”

Bull ran at the monstrous spider creature, hard on Hawke’s heels.  Both warriors determined to ensure the Inquisitor and his party made it to safety on the other side of the rift.  Bull assumed they were safe when he heard the familiar snap behind him of the rift being sealed shut.  The Boss had closed their only escape.  All he had left was Hawke and his maul.

_I did it Spitfire.  At least he’s safe._

***

A dungeon.  That was a bit over the top, but Skyhold had a dungeon.  Maybe everyone had a dungeon here. 

Praxis didn’t bother to try and count days.  Her new measurement in life was sessions.  Each one was different.  Some of them were gentle questions that she never answered.  Many involved mild beatings with no questions, no way for her to bargain or compromise to make it stop. 

But, that was standard.  She knew it would happen this way.

Healers came in often especially in the beginning.  They tended to her amputation and cursed the fact that poultices and potions weren’t helping as much as they should.  The Vidasala knew about Praxis’ Templar abilities, probably from one of Bull’s reports, if not the Healer’s observations.  After one examination, Praxis was deemed to be within her ‘fertile time’.  The Vidasala had high hopes of mixing in Templar blood with Qunari, but Praxis had to explain that she couldn’t have any children.  Laughing at the Vidasala wasn’t the best decision at the time and she paid for that in spades.

After that, she’d have been a liar if she said she didn’t feel sick with fear each time the door opened.  The latch clinked three times when it was being unlocked.  Always the same rhythmic sound, followed by creaking hinges.  It was the most frightening sound she’d ever known.

Praxis had answered all of their questions about the Inquisition honestly.  At least, everything pertaining to supplies.  She answered nothing about anything else, not even the name of the tavern, as insignificant as that was. 

There were also the typical dehumanizing sessions, questioned while wet and naked with a room full of people.  The Vidasala would probe and poke, vilifying the Inquisition and its mage alliance.  Everything she said was to try and get under Praxis’ skin.    

Eventually, Praxis lost count of the sessions.  She had more frequent episodes of memory loss.  She ultimately hit the point where she honestly couldn’t remember certain details any more. 

 

“I asked you a question.”  The Vidasala’s voice was even and firm, but Praxis knew that the Qunari was losing her patience.

_Oh.  We’re doing this again._

Remaining wordless she accepted the expected lashing as she ‘stood’ on her knees.  She wasn’t entirely silent since that shit hurt like a bitch.  With her arms bound behind her back, the leather cords slashed and cut more through her arms than her back.  She wished it had been her back, at least that area she’d toughened up a bit. 

The Vidasala sneered down at her rather elegantly.  Giving a subtle nod, she left the room with the guard who had wielded the whip.  Praxis couldn’t remember why they had been in there in the first place.  After a few moments, Gatt came in. 

She liked Gatt.  He was a fucking idiot. 

He came to stand in front of her, arms crossed.  “Everything you said was a lie.”

“Everything I said was out of date.  There’s a difference.  Besides, how accurate do you really think Hissrad’s reports were?”

“DON’T CALL HIM THAT!”  Definitely a hot-blooded idiot.

“What should I call him?”  She finally lifted her head to have their eyes square off, smiling mirthlessly.  “Kadan?”

Coming from a large swinging arc, his hand built up air pressure before it slapped against the side of her head.  Pain.  Ringing.  She wished he’d punched her.  That didn’t hurt as long as this did.  The eardrum was undoubtedly ruptured.  In a few moments, she felt the blood trickle out and down her neck. 

Gatt knew he fucked up.  She watched him stand with fists clenched as he steadied his breath.  He needed time to collect himself and she wasn’t going to allow it.

“Seven ... six ... eleven ... five ... nine-an'-twenty mile today  
Four ... eleven ... seventeen ... thirty-two the day before”

Gatt’s eyes pierced into her as the chanted the poem that was forever burned into her memory.  It was one thing that she knew would never go away.  A piece of her old training that was its own torture.  She chose a spot behind him to stare at, an irregular looking stone in the wall, a slight bit more blue than the others.  It was easier to keep her concentration if she didn’t have facial expressions distracting her.    

Eventually, Gatt spoke to her.  “I know what you’re doing.  I’ve been taught similar methods.  Resistance.  Giving just enough that your captors think they have something.  You can’t protect them.  You can’t protect him.”

“Don't ... don't ... don't ... don't ... look at what's in front of you  
Boots ... boots ... boots ... boots ... movin' up an' down again” 

Gatt tried to ignore the poem. 

“How long did your people torture you?”  He tilted his head from one side to the other.  A familiar gesture that was meant to be unnerving, but for her, it was old hat.  “Do you really think that this is the end of it?  That they could possibly prepare you for this?  We are in no rush.  You will be broken.”

It was only words.  They meant nothing.  Promises were nothing.  She kept on.  “I—’ave—marched—six—weeks in ’Ell an’ certify / It—is—not—fire—devils—dark or anything…” 

He punched her in the face which sent blood and spit flying from her slack mouth.  He clawed at her jaw as he knelt down to have her face him again.  He laughed.  “You’ve already been reeducated by your people haven’t you?”  A knowing sneer crawled up his face.  “It didn’t work.  I can see it.  You’re like me.  Having trouble conforming…that’s why he’s attracted to you.  He wants you to be me.”

She screwed her eyes shut, unable to jerk away from his clutches.  _Words.  They mean nothing._ With his fingers pressed hard into her cheeks, she had to force the last words of the poem through clenched teeth.  “There’s no discharge in the war.”

Gatt shoved her to the cold stone ground.  She yelped when she landed on her elbow in an attempt to cushion the fall.  Cracking her skull open wasn’t exactly an appealing thought.  The pain was sharp and shot through her spine to sicken her stomach.  She could practically taste the color of bile threatening at the back of her throat.

Gatt squatted in front of her face and tapped her head with a cool piece of metal.  It didn’t feel like a blade and her curiosity got the better of her as she craned her neck to see what it was.  She forced herself into a coughing fit, playing it off as if the fall caused it.  She needed a second to school her reaction to Gatt holding her pistol to her head.

“Care to tell me what this is?”

She shrugged as best she could while lying on the ground.  “Nothing for someone like you.  It’s a puzzle.  Bull gave it to me as a gift, said it was crafted in Orzammar.”

Taking the bait, Gatt began to examine the weapon closely, fingering the safety on the side, prying at the hammer back and forward.  She squirmed and wiggled to stand up on her knees.  Without the rest of her legs, she could no longer sit down in kneel. 

For the most part, Gatt payed her little attention as he tried to figure out the purpose of the gun.  Once she achieved the position she sought, adjusting her wrists within her bonds, she laughed.  The first time since her last punishment for doing do. 

Gatt gave her a sideways glance as he scoffed at her.  “What do you have to laugh at?” 

Praxis grinned at him with a happy heart.  “I’ve decided to kill you now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Praxis recites is Rudyard Kipling's "Boots". The [recording](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yGkyhaMdpto) of which, is haunting.
> 
>  
> 
> The poem depicts soldiers marching throughout Africa for hours and hours, days and days and warns about the danger of going mad from the monotony.


	17. Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor begins to feel the weight of his duties. Bull and Praxis tackle their problems. Solas is being...Solas.

A week after the victory at Adamant, the Inquisitor called for a meeting in the war room on the first day back at Skyhold, with the inclusion of his inner party.  They all stood around the war table, idly looking at a map that had no bearing on the topic of conversation.  Mahanon took a steading breath then tackled the dangling question.

“Cremisius Aclassi has taken over the Chargers.  Cullen reports that the new structure that Praxis set up prior to her abduction will continue to work well for at least three more weeks before needing a few tweaks to make the changes permanent to account for her absence.”  He let his hands rest on the table and slowly took in the expressions of each person around the table.  “The Iron Bull and Hawke sacrificed themselves so that issue is closed.  What remains, is if we choose to go after Praxis.”

“You mean, if we choose to rescue her, do we accept the repercussions it’ll have on the Inquisition.”  Dorian gave an indignant sneer, all too familiar with the niceties of political verbiage.

“Astute, but clearly cutting directly to the point.”  Josephine looked down at her note board, then back up, always making eye contact whenever she spoke.  “Current rumors place the blame of the tavern attack on the Qunari.  Bull dying to save the Inquisitor has erased the murmurs that he was involved, but there are still a few whispers who are not convinced regardless.  Praxis was well known to be close with him and now the rumors are claiming that she has not be abducted but instead rejoined the Qunari as a spy.  Her background as a foreigner from an unknown country fuels this one.”

Krem schooled his reaction well.  Mahanon was one of the few who knew that the ‘fling’ he had with Praxis had been more than that, to both of them.  “The Chargers can follow any lead that you throw our way.  Once we have a location, we can be in and out.”

“Which is exactly why I can’t spare you.”  Mahanon turned to Cullen.

Picking up on the hint, Cullen explained.  “Harding has brought back more reports of Venatori activity.  The Inquisitor can’t be everywhere.  The priority for him are the rifts and your band is skilled in taking on advanced targets.  I have a schedule already set up for your review and approval.  Any additional resources your band needs, gets the list to Praxis and it’ll get taken care of.”

The silence in the room was sickening. 

Cullen took a deep breath before correcting his slip up.  “Get the list to Dalton.”

Krem gave a professional nod of the head, but Mahanon noticed his clenched fists.  “If there’s nothing else Commander, I need to inform the Chargers and get preparations underway.” 

“That’s it then?  We abandon Praxis to those monsters?”  Dorian’s voice became more heated when no one gave him the answer he was looking for.  “Of all the bullshit we’ve done for every damn noble in the South, none of whom have done half of what she has!”

Leliana stepped forward.  “Lord Pavus, Corypheus has stepped up his presence.  The Ventaori are flooding the south and our efforts to slow the red lyrium trade hasn’t been sufficient.”

“But the mines in the Emprise…”  Mahanon cut in.

“It’s not enough.” Leliana shook her head.  “His forces continue to grow, albeit slower than they were, but he is still a significant threat and we’re forcing his hand. We don't have the resources to spare. Not with the rumors being what they are.”

Dorian looked around the room, seeking anyone to back him up.  He finally huffed bitterly as he folded his arms over his chest, quiet for the remainder of the time the Inquisitor laid out the schedule for the upcoming weeks, assigning teams and objectives to locations.  Each time Mahanon glanced in Dorian’s direction, he could feel the mage’s eyes practically burning a hole through him.  After everyone was dismissed, Dorian hung back, as expected.

Dorian waited for the door to latch shut.  “What is this Amatus?  Since we left Adamant, I feel that I don’t know you.  This is quite possibly the longest we’ve conversed since you fell from the rift.  Praxis is your friend as well as mine.  How can you consider…what happened to you?  Talk to me.”

“Nothing of importance.  I just see things more clearly now.”

“Don’t you shut me out.”  Dorian stormed up to him, pressing his finger into the elf’s shoulder.  “The way you pried me open and inserted yourself into my heart, how dare you.  You can’t fucking do this to me!”

“Why would you bother with me?  You have Cullen.  You and he spend enough time together”

“That’s not fair!”

Mahanon raised his hand to Dorian’s face, the green aura lighting his fine face.  “ **This isn’t fair!** ”

Dorian shied away, confusion plaguing his features. 

“Dorian, we lost 303 soldiers on the battlefield and another 142 to severe injuries and illness.  That doesn’t even include the heavy losses the Wardens sustained.  I thought after Haven I would be prepared for this, but…”

Dorian reached out to take Mahanon in his arms, but the elf pressed a frim line into his lips as he held up a hand to stop Dorian in his tracks.  “I marched them to their death.  I say where we go, what we do and each time I have to consider how tall the pyres will be, how many families will now be destitute.”

“Amatus.”  Dorian pushed past Mahanon’s hand and cradled the man to his shoulder. 

The Inquisitor released a heavy sigh he’d been holding since the Fade.  “I have never had a need to ever, in my life, count beyond fifty and now I command an army numbering in the thousands that dies by the hundreds.”  He was shaking uncontrollably, not just his hands, his whole body fell victim but he continued on, he had to get this out.  He had to, before it poisoned him.  “I never wanted this, never dreamed of it.”

Mahanon clutched Dorian tighter, fear crushing his heart.  Fear that the nightmare planted there.  “I want to go home.”

Dorian offered no platitudes or false hope.  He only held the elf tight to his chest.  “You’ve set your people to task.  Come to bed with me.”

“I can’t…”

“Although I’m flattered, you regard my prowess so highly, you need not concern yourself.  I only offer rest.  You’re in need of it, desperately.”  Dorian took his hands gently as he coaxed Mahanon to follow him up to their room.

The thought crushed Mahanon as he struggled to breathe while holding back the pain in his chest.  Their room, but for how much longer?  He walked mindlessly to his room, not even registering if he saw anyone else along the way.  As soon as he crossed the threshold, he went straight for the bed and collapsed. 

He felt Dorian removing his clothes, but he offered not help.  He simply stared out the window at nothing, wishing he could empty himself of his feelings. 

Dorian didn’t remark on his listlessness, surprisingly.  “Do you want me to stay?”

There was a small crack to his voice.  He was quiet and nervous in a way that Mahanon had never seen.  Turning to face the mage, he reached out for him.  “Please.  I don’t want you to leave.”

 _Not now, not ever._   It’s what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the strength.  Instead he curled up into his lover’s arms and accepted the sleep that overwhelmed him within seconds as Dorian carded his fingers through his long hair. 

***

Following the meeting, Solas retreated to the rotunda and sat at his desk.  Since the hour was growing late, most were finding their beds and a calm quiet fell over Skyhold.  This was the best time for him to read or journey to the Fade.  Tonight, he sat in contemplation over the problem that was Praxis.  She was dangerous, but useful.  Crazy, but not easy to manipulate.  He was uncertain how to best encourage the Inquisitor’s actions in her regard.

A hum of magic emanated from his desk.  He casually scanned the area to ensure he was alone before opening the drawer.  Retrieving the amulet that Dorian left in his care, he listened and felt for how it was tugging at the fabric of the Veil.  It was extraordinarily faint, but the oddity of it was that no one was focusing the energy. 

He set it on his desk and simply observed it momentarily as he decided how he wanted to proceed.  Taking a small wisp of Fade energy, he prodded the crystal. 

_‘Here, set up the equipment over here.’_

_‘You swear this is the last place that they stood?’_

_‘Without a doubt.  I also showed photos to the guard on duty at the time.  He confirmed that a Cullen Pavus and Dorian Pavus were with her last.’_

_‘Alright.  I can work with that.  Let’s get this show on the road.’_

Solas pulled back the energy and tried to drain as much as he could from the amulet.  This was decidedly not good.  Solas collected himself with a calming breath then strode for the undercroft as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Harritt had already retired for the evening, but Dagna seemed to always be engrossed in some manner or other at odd hours of the day, or night. 

“Good evening, child of the stone.”

“Oh!”  Dagna jerked a little bit as she pulled her attention away from her work bench.  Solas could have stood over her all night and she wouldn’t have taken note.  “Hi, didn’t see you there.  I hope you weren’t waiting long.  What can I do for you?  I’m not busy, so I have time, but well, there’s always work, but there’s no timeline for this…and I’m rambling again.”

“No apology necessary.”  Solas handed her the necklace.  “I tried to add a charm to this amulet but I’m afraid the magic has become unstable.  Would you happen to have any suggestions as to how I could destroy it?”

Thankfully, her eagerness to help out overshadowed the flawed logic he used.  Any mage playing with charms knew how to destroy corrupt objects, but this was no normal magic and Solas wasn’t going to take any chances.

“I have just the thing, right this way!”  Dagna led him to a device that harbored its own enchantments, but ones that aided in nullifying magic.  It was a large press made from massive stones.  “I’ve had a good number of failed experiments and this little guy has come in handy more than once.” 

Dagna cranked the top piece up to create enough space to slip the amulet in between.  She then tapped a release lever that sent the heavy stone plummeting down, obliterating the object.  Solas watched small shards skip out and fall to the ground.  He picked one up and tested its reaction to magic.

Nothing.  _Good_.

***

_Next._

Praxis worked her way out of the ropes, an action she practiced when she was alone in her cell.  These people didn’t know knots as well as Bull and even he couldn’t keep her tied down.  Praxis grinned at Gatt with a happy heart.  “I’ve decided to kill you now.”

When Gatt snapped his head up at her, she pounced.  She knocked him to the ground and when he screamed in pain as his head hit the floor, she snatched him by the hair to continue pounding it against the stone until he stopped making noise.

_Next._

The door to her room opened and three guards stepped in as she picked up her weapon.  A deep breath.  Avoiding the vitaar that covered their bodies, she opted for the risker headshots.  It paid off as they all slumped to the floor, brain matter sprayed everywhere.

_Next._

Her heart hammered in her ears.  She had to get out.

_Out.  Run._

Tucking the gun in her pants, she bolted as best she could on all fours out of the cell.  The pain of her knees pounding on the hard floors sent shocks up through her legs, into her spine and pulsed in her brain.  It was miserable, but she had no time to think on that.

_Next._

***

“They’re through!  C’mon!”  Bull took one last swing at the massive creature then sprinted in a random direction.  He could hear Hawke hard on his heels but neither of them slowed or exchanged words.  Escape was the only thought that pressed them onward. 

The terrain continued to be difficult, odd and constantly changing under foot.  When they came upon an impassive cliff face, Bull searched for another way around until they saw the giant spiders gaining on them.

“Up!”  Hawke called out as he jumped to tackle the rocky obstacle. 

Bull followed his lead and began climbing as well. 

“So, you called off the suicide mission.”  Hawke grunted as he pulled himself higher, his breathes coming in heavy pants.  “Does that mean you have a plan?”

They climbed a few more feet to reach the summit.  It wasn’t the tallest formation in the Fade, but it did give a good vantage point for Bull to search for what he wanted.  Hawke waited patiently, catching his breath as Bull scanned the landscape, listened.  Then he heard it, that familiar ‘crack-pop’.  Turning to the sound, Bull pointed to the newly formed green fissure about 200 fathoms away.

“There.  That’s our ticket out of here.”

Hawke followed his finger and groaned a bit at the distance.  “Alright.  We have two options.  We keep our armor and fight our way through, or we ditch the weight and run like the Blight is chasing us.”

Bull rubbed this thumb and index finger over the pressed tin around his neck.  He needed to save her, he had done his job.  Quickly undoing all the belts and straps that held his armor together, he nodded at Hawke.  “We keep our weapons.”

“Oh, that’s a given.”  Hawke chuckled.  “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a fair fight for the demons then would it?”

Bull laughed with him.  He could get to like this cocky bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Deep Roads and Monsters!


	18. Fires Burning Hot (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon finds a way out of his funk. Hawke probably wishes he hadn't joined the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut because, smut.
> 
> TW: Mild gore

Another two weeks, three total since Adamant, and Mahanon still felt empty.  It wasn’t for lack of trying on Dorian’s part, he was attentive and understanding to the point that it made Mahanon feel worse.  They’d slept together, but hadn’t _slept_ together in weeks. 

He and his team had recently returned from another cross country mission that involved closing rifts, pleasing locals and hunting down Venatori.  Mahanon blamed the busy schedule for his lack of enthusiasm in the bedroom but, it was a lie.  Mahanon simply couldn’t get into it, couldn’t find the energy or purpose in the act any more. 

Standing on an upper walkway outside of the main castle in Skyhold, he looked down to the courtyard.  Dorian and Cullen were playing chess as usual.  He couldn’t make out any words but he watched their hand gestures, their smiles.  When Dorian laughed Mahanon could feel it piercing through his heart like a barbed needle.  When was the last time _he_ made Dorian laugh like that?

The mighty Inquisitor of the Inquisition braced his forearms on the stone balustrade and ducked his head low.  He felt as though he were falling into a dark well.  He could see people reaching out for him, Dorian wearing himself ragged trying to help him, but he couldn’t find the strength to grab hold.  Lifting his head back up, he stared at the two men in the courtyard, envious.  They stood, the game finished and Cullen laid his arm around Dorian to pull him closer for quiet words which set them both into a fit of laughter once again.

The Commander didn’t remove his arm as they disappeared back into the castle.

Later that night the Inquisitor and his inner circle took dinner in the great hall.  Varric was making lively conversation.  Mahanon still had not grown accustomed to the empty seats at the end of the table.  He didn’t care what the rumors suggested, he trusted them both.  He picked at his food, hardly eating when he felt a hand take hold of his.  Looking up he found Dorian gracing him with a smile, hoping to provide some comfort.  Instead Mahanon felt more lost.  He wanted to reconnect, but he just felt…insufficient. 

Dorian narrowed his eyes at him in an unspoken question.  Not wanting to save the topic for later that night, Mahanon decided to take it head on.  “Come with me for a moment.”

The pair walked out into the night, slowly pacing along the battlements.  Dorian had given up prodding days ago and allowed Mahanon all the time he needed to speak.  If he spoke at all. 

“Dorian, why don’t you give up on me.  You have Cullen.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Dorian clutched his head, unintentionally ruffling his hair.  “You!  You have to be the most infuriating man I have ever known!  Yes, I am friends with him, but it is you who is my Amatus.  My beloved.”

Mahanon kept walking, his head hung low.  “I love you too, Creators!  I just don’t know why…I feel that I need…I don’t know.”

“Tell me to walk on hot coals, tell me to capture the seat of the Maker.  I don’t care what you need, just tell me and it is yours.”  Dorian looped his arm in Mahanon’s as silver eyes met with emerald green.  “You miss her.  Don’t you?”

Leaning against Dorian, Mahanon felt as though a name had finally been placed on the vague feeling he hadn’t been able to pin down.  “Yes.  We used to speak almost every morning.  It was comforting.  We never brought up the Inquisition and it was a nice escape.”

“You’ve wounded me.  Are my conversations not vibrant and fulfilling enough for you?”  He squeezed the elf’s arm lightly and he purred in his ear.  “I could do it in interpretive dance if you prefer.” 

Mahanon chuckled briefly.  Creators, when was the last time he’d laughed?  “Well, you were typically the topic of conversation, so it’s hardly fitting that you would be part of the discussion.”

“Can’t say I blame you for your topic of conversation.  I am my favorite topic as well.”  Dorian tapped at his chin.  “You know, if you need a set of ears to brag to, I believe that our dear Commander may be just what the healer recommended.  Come, I’m certain he’s up at this hour.”

Dorian was now dragging a semi-interested Mahanon.  Perhaps he was right.  Maybe that was what he needed, someone else to lay out all of his ‘other’ affairs to.  Dorian was a wonderful sounding board for the Inquisition matters but he wasn’t the best at being impartial when speaking about himself.  Perhaps Cullen could offer a differing perspective than Praxis had.  Yes, this was sounding like a better and better idea by the second. 

Until they burst into Cullen’s office.

The Commander sat in his chair wearing nothing but leather breeches and a loose linen shirt.  Cock gripped well in hand.  Face flushed.

“ **Shut the door!** ”  Mahanon followed the command so quickly that he didn’t think to leave and _then_ shut it.

Cullen tucked himself away and stalked up to Dorian.  “That door was locked!  What is the matter with you?!”

Seeing his lover being accosted set fire to Mahanon’s blood.  He absolutely would not stand for anyone to speak to Dorian in that matter, regardless of how wrong the mage had been.  He wedged himself between the two and held Cullen back with his hands on the man’s pert chest.  The space was tight and neither mage nor warrior was backing down.

“You have your own quarters, why would you do such a thing in your office?”  Dorian shot over Mahanon’s shoulder.

“Right.  **My** office.  Behind **locked** doors!”  Cullen continued to advance until Dorian’s back was pressed to a wall. 

Sandwiched between the two flared tempers, Mahanon let out a soft grunt when Cullen took one step too far in his attempt to get at Dorian and all of their bodies pressed together.  That grunt turned into an unbidden moan when Mahanon could feel both men’s hard cocks pressing urgently against his body. 

For the first time in weeks, he felt a hunger.

Reaching down, he twisted just right to take both men in hand through their clothes.  He was unfamiliar with Cullen’s personal affairs, but he sounded just as desperate to be touched as Dorian.  Both sets of human knees buckled, threats and accusations were silenced.  Oddly, Mahanon felt powerful.  In full control.  He gripped the men tighter when neither protested.  Both warrior and mage held confused looks that darted among the three of them.

They were waiting for him.  Mahanon was the deciding factor, the one who would choose how the night would play out.  A surge of unbridled lust rushed through the elf.  Mahanon decided then and there that he was going to seize this opportunity. 

“Cullen, I’m in a dark place right now.  I want to fuck both of you.  If you don’t want this, tell me to leave.”

There was no hesitation from the blonde.  “You’re not the only one.  Stay.” 

It was all Mahanon needed.  “Commander.”  Mahanon tugged down on his loose linen shirt.  Cullen dropped to his knees willingly.  “You will suck that mage’s cock and you will use your fingers to prepare your ass for me as I watch.”

Immediately Cullen began to strip the clothing from his body.  His head lolled backward in salacious anticipation.  Cullen closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath through his teeth.  “Yes, Your Worship.”

Mahanon shot an eye at Dorian who stared back blankly until understanding hit.  Dorian rushed to match the Commander’s state of undress.  The clink of his buckles echoed through the small space as the layers of clothing tumbled to the floor.  Mahanon padded across the room, breathing deep.  He could feel the air filling his lungs.  He felt free.  Pushing Cullen’s desk forcefully, he blocked the door with the now broken lock, thanks to Dorian. 

“There’s a green vial sitting on top.  I’ll need that.”  Cullen offered before Mahanon made his way back. 

The Inquisitor dragged Cullen’s desk chair closer to the two naked men who waited for his instruction.  He tossed the vial to Cullen then sat in the chair is if it were the throne in the Great Hall.  Dorian was already beginning to pant, Cullen massaged the oil over his hands, eager to start.  With steepled fingertips pressed to his lips, Mahanon gave a single nod of the head to have the night begin. 

The moment that Cullen’s mouth wrapped around Dorian’s hard shaft, the mage was undone.  “ _Kaffas!  Yes, yes, oh fuck._ ”

Since his hands were busy playing with his asshole, Cullen was fully at Dorian’s disposal.  Cullen was on his knees before Dorian, the Tevinter’s dark fingers threaded through the blonde’s tame curls, setting them free as his grip tightened and pulled at the golden locks to have his cock pumping into Cullen’s hot mouth. 

Mahanon moved the chair closer so he could lean forward and whisper in Cullen’s ear.  “Doesn’t he taste wonderful?  Look at him.”

Cullen angled lower, peered up.  The image of Dorian tightening his grip as his mouth hanging open made Mahanon’s own erection twitch with need.  Mahanon stood slowly, allowing his breath to trail up Dorian’s side.  Reaching the neck, he delicately licked up a thread of muscle to the earlobe then whispered in Dorian’s ear.  “My dirty little pet, are you enjoying fucking his face?”

Mahanon could feel the shiver that coursed through his lover.  Dorian’s words were a struggle to understand through ragged breaths.    “Yes, Amatus.”

Watching Dorian be serviced was intoxicating.  He’d never imagined that his lover, his Vhenan be taken by another man would feel more protective, more in love than before.  The strangeness of the night was the break he needed. 

Dorian’s breath started to hitch in his chest. 

“Are you close?”

At Dorian’s halfhearted nod, Mahanon grabbed Cullen by the hair and pulled him off.  Dorian slumped with a whimper at the loss and watched with pleading eyes as the Inquisitor walked around to the Commander’s back.

“Stand.  Put your hands on either side of Dorian, get up close.”  Cullen did as he was instructed, stood mere inches from the mage’s face and placed his hands on the wall next to Dorian’s shoulders.  Their erections grazed and Dorian immediately took them both in hand, pressing, stroking, the thick flesh as best he could.  Precum poured from them both, their bodies having long surrendered to their primal lust. 

Mahanon’s long, nimble fingers raked up and down Cullen’s body as he let the men play.  He traced the white lines of old scars and the puffed up newly pink ones ran over the Templar’s skin.  Cullen’s body was thick with muscles, not lean like Dorian’s.  He was the epitome of stock bred for brute strength, a colossus meant to crush and destroy.  The very stereotype that Fereldan’s were characterized to be.  Marveling at the blonde’s thick thighs, the elf’s thin fingers edged up to his buttocks.  As he dug in his fingers to discover how impressive the muscles were, new sounds came from Cullen.

Experimenting, Mahanon became more urgent with his touch.  Spreading the man wide, he licked up the crevasse.  Even Dorian laughed at how thoroughly the Commander enjoyed it.

Sticking his ass out, Cullen begged for more.  “Your Worship, I want you in me.”

Using Cullen’s vial, Mahanon took his time slicking his cock, his thumb playing with the head as he watched Dorian teasing the Commander.  “Don’t take your hands off the wall.”

Dorian cried out when Cullen bit into his shoulder as Mahanon eased his way in then began fucking _his_ Commander.  The human savage felt incredible.  So accommodating.  So hot and tight.  A new rush of lust flooded his veins as his eyes met with Dorian’s.  His lover bore no signs of jealousy or anger, only desire.  Mahanon clawed into the Commander’s hips and thrust hard, making the man’s whole body buck. 

Dorian’s smile deepened.

With the encouragement of his lover’s approval, Mahanon let go of any restraint.  His pace was brutal, but Cullen continued to press back against him as though he couldn’t get enough. 

“Amatus…”    

The lazy word fell from Dorian easily but slammed hard in Mahanon’s ears.  The wanton husk to it had Mahanon dumping his load in Cullen instantly. 

Slowing his timing, Mahanon stared dreamily at Dorian.  “How would you like to cum Vhenan?  Do you want us both to suck you?” 

There was no time for a response as Cullen spoke up first.  “In me, please.  I want it again.”

Dorian’s lustful, seductive chuckle provided his answer and Mahanon positioned himself on his knees beneath Cullen who kept his hands planted on the wall as instructed.  He waited for Dorian to become seated in the cream filled ass before taking Cullen in his own mouth. 

He heard Cullen’s head fall against the stone wall.  “Maker’s breath! I-I c-can’t…”

Unlike Mahanon, Dorian chose a lasciviously slow pace that allowed Mahanon’s tongue to flick, press, and taste as much as he wished.  He gave attention to not only the shaft, but suckled on the sac as well, his tongue pressing through to tease the other side of the prostate.  The mewls and helpless pleading that came from Cullen were only met with hearty moans and no accommodation to his requests for unbridled rutting.  Perhaps a quarter hour passed and Cullen was brought to tears having teetered on the edge for too long.

“If there is any mercy left, I beg you, Your Worship, please let him rail me.”  It was practically sobs at this point and Mahanon couldn’t justify the torture any longer. 

“Dorian, I want you to use him to fuck my mouth.”  Mahanon prepared himself as Dorian adjusted his stance, there was growl of relief that came from the Commander.

“ **Andraste’s fucking nipples!** ”  Cullen fell into incoherent mumblings as Dorian’s deep penetrations sent the Commander’s throbbing, desperate cock to the back of the elf’s throat. 

Mahanon could feel himself getting hard again just listening to how unhinged the man was.  He heard Dorian come and soon found a hand interrupting his feast.  The mage had taken Cullen in hand and was jerking him off furiously as he spoke into the man’s back.  “Watch this Cullen, see how much he enjoys human cum.”

The words must have snapped a trigger loose as Cullen’s hot seed erupted, Dorian aiming expertly for Mahanon’s open, smiling mouth.  It was more bitter than Dorian’s but he didn’t care.  Swallowing most of it, he rose and captured Dorian’s mouth to share in the Commander’s spend.  The mage’s tongue swept over his lips, dove into his mouth to lap up and savor the exotic new taste. 

Belatedly, they realized that Cullen had collapsed on the floor, cum dripping from his ass.  He looked utterly destroyed and it only made Mahanon want it more. 

Crouching down between the man’s legs, he gave his confession.  “I want you again.”  Mahanon's hands slid over Cullen’s sweat slicked torso, the blonde arching under the touch.  “You’re a beautiful mess.  Let me take you again.”

Cullen only spread his legs, incapable of speech.  The Inquisitor hooked his arms around the blonde’s thighs and was amazed at how Cullen was still able to squeeze against his second arousal.  He relished at the feeling of the mixture of white ooze being forced to make way as he thrust into Cullen.  Dorian sat next to the Commander, his hands roamed over his creamy skin, taking pleasure in the waves of muscles that twitched under his touch. 

“Kiss him, my pet.”  Dorian gave a slight glance of hesitation, Cullen lifted his head with baited breath, needy for the intimate embrace.  Mahanon repeated himself as he continued to languidly plunge into Cullen’s greedy hole.  “Kiss.”

The kisses were gentle.  Mostly lips with only a bit of teasing tongue.  Watching the two make out, seeing the genuine care they had for each other lit a fire in Mahanon.  He felt it seize his lungs, pound in his balls and heat his belly.  Breathless and sweaty, he failed in stretching out the moment.  It was too much, the pressure having built to incredible levels, his second orgasm put black spots dancing in his vision.  With his mind swimming, he crumpled just as Cullen had, only difference being his head landed on the Commander’s taut abs.

Laying there, Mahanon enjoyed the rhythmic rise and fall of the man’s breathing.  Once his heartrate slowed, he collected himself and acted on a small spark of jealousy.  Raising himself to hover over Cullen’s wrecked body, he stole an unexpected kiss.  The Commander was obviously surprised, but gave in, his husky breaths warming each meeting of their lips.  Mahanon was more tongue, more pressure – intent to burn _his_ kisses into Cullen’s mind, erasing Dorian’s.  In a strange way, he took pleasure in the thought of Cullen using this memory the next time he masturbated.

Slowly, stiffly, they all eventually peeled themselves from the floor and redressed.  A pang of regret made Mahanon cower a bit as he addressed Cullen.  He felt like an ass but didn’t know how else to put it.  Yet, he owed Cullen the curtesy of being clear and upfront.  Better now than later.  “I…I don’t anticipate this being repeated.”

“I understand perfectly.  This was…excellent and I have no regrets in that regard.”  Mahanon listened carefully to the words and intonation Cullen used.  There was no hint of sadness or hurt.  For the first time in months, Cullen actually sounded relaxed.   

Taking it as a good sign, he slipped his arm in Dorian’s and bid the Commander good night.

***

Life at Skyhold found a new normal.  The three men carried on as though nothing happened out of the ordinary, yet bonded closer than they had been before.  Mahanon went on another out-and-back to ensure he was in residence when the Legion of the Dead arrived.

When Skyhold welcomed the Legion of the Dead, it was with the proper respect as befit their social rank as well as their subdued customs.  Josephine was the only one to meet their leader at the gates and quietly escorted him to the War Room to meet the other advisors and the Inquisitor in a less public setting. 

Not one for the lengthy and pointless talks that made politics insufferable, Commander Bownam waved off the Inquisitor’s greeting.  “Stone’s greetings Top Siders.  I prefer to get our business here concluded and head back to my men for training.  We may never become accustomed to that accursed sky, but the effort needs to be made.”

Cullen grinned with approval as an agitated Josephine discarded three pages of notes she had prepared for the meeting. 

“This is an accounting of our numbers and capabilities along with an inventory of supplies and gold that the Deshers in Orzammar sent with us.”  He handed a sheet of paper to Cullen, then turned to Leliana.  “You the spymaster _hmm_?  Well, you need to clean out your ranks a bit according to this.”

Leliana betrayed no hint of emotion as she calmly took the two pages of names from his hand.  Not waiting for any thanks or acknowledgement, the Commander moved on and handed the last sheet of paper to the Inquisitor. 

The color drained from his face and a chill spiked through his body.  His silence drew the attention of his advisors.  He glanced back at the note, the handwriting and language completely unmistakable. 

“Inquisitor, are you well?  Is it bad news?”  Josephine came to his side to offer a hand, but gasped when she saw the note, dropping her note board.

Discarding ceremony and rank, Cullen snatched the note from Mahanon.  Like the others, he knew the handwriting instantly.  “Maker preserve me.  They’re alive?”

“How?”  Mahanon used the note to point at Commander Bownam.  “How, by the Blessed Creators, is this even possible?”

***

Bull hit the ground and felt his stomach lurch upwards.  He could have sworn that he had spit it out, but he didn’t stop to check.

“Keep moving!”  He knew the demons would follow them through and without armor, they didn’t stand a chance. 

There was enough movement from the corner of his eye that he knew Hawke was keeping up.  Wearing barely more than their smalls, they kept a decent pace.  Bull heard Hawke stumble and not get up.  It was only when he paused for that brief moment to check on the Champion that Bull’s exhaustion caught up with him.  It felt as though the muscles in his legs snapped loose, like cut strings on a lute.  It had been a long time since he’d ever had the need to push himself so hard.  Laying in the sandy dune he listened to the sea lapping against the shore.  The sun bore down bright as if trying to burn the smell of the Fade from his body. 

“Hawke?”

“Oh dammit.  We’re still alive aren’t we?  Fuck.”  Bull heard sand shifting and could only assume Hawke was making his way closer.  The man crawled over and collapsed once again, this time facing his companion.  “So, what’s next?  Head back to Skyhold?”

“You can.  I’m going north along the shore.  There’s a Ben-Hassrath holding in Cryen.  I’m getting Praxis.  If she’s not there, I will at least be able to find out where she is.”

Hawke rolled over to his back, slowly catching his breath.  He laughed a bit to himself.  “Yeah, I think I’ll come with you.  I want to see the look on her face when she sees that I came to rescue her.  It’ll be fun.”  He nudged Bull.  “She fucking hates me you know.”

“Really?  Haha.”  Pushing off the ground, Bull was able to gingerly sit upright to work the knots out of his calves.  “What the fuck did you do?”

Hawke flung his arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.  “I fucked up.  I never knew…did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About Cullen and the Circle?”

“No.”  He didn’t know specifically, but he’d known that Cullen had been through some kind of nasty shit.  Episodes like that, they followed men around like a shadow.  A permanent fixture of their life, haunting them to the grave. 

Hawke snorted a derisive laugh.  “Well, it doesn’t matter now.  I know I’m not welcome back at Skyhold, not with him there.”  Dropping his arm, he turned to Bull.  “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“Think you can swing that sword better than you’re pinning for your boyfriend?”  Rising, Bull gazed down the shoreline, searching for landmarks to have a better idea of how much further they’d have to go.

Hawke joined him with a few grunts and groans.  “You keep that red-headed witch from killing me and I’ll swing whatever you want.” 

 

They traveled for three days, snatching food wherever they could since they had no coin.  Without armor and only a weapon in hand, they looked more like bandits than members of the Inquisition.  Probably smelled worse than, considering their circumstances.  As they neared Cryen, Bull instructed Hawke on the layout of the building.  They planned their way into the building and down to the dungeons, estimating how many warriors they might face. 

According to Bull’s description, the outside was a simple looking mansion that appeared to be run down.  Only enough traffic to and fro to keep vagrants away.  Beneath the holding is where the main infrastructure was, the dungeons, barracks and offices.  At any given time, there could be anywhere from five to thirty Ben-hasrath spies within.  Although they had easily stolen food along the way, armor was harder to come by, which means, they never found any.  It wasn’t much of a surprise considering how expensive the shit was.

The building was located on the outskirts of the village, surrounded by fields of wheat harvested by tenants.  Looking over the rolling hills, Bull watched the crops swaying in the night breeze, lit a golden orange by a fire in the distance. 

“Is that the place?”  Hawke pointed to the building that was engulfed in flames.

“Fucking shit.”  Bull completely trashed their plan and ran fool heartedly forward.

“Fuck yeah!”  Hawke caught up and ran beside the hulking mercenary.  “Who needs a plan!?  Let’s do this!” 

The scope of the devastation increased as they came closer.  The heat bored down on them.  Bull only took notice when Hawke grabbed his arm, halting him in his tracks.  “It’s too hot!  You can’t get in there!  Check the perimeter!”

The second story collapsed and bright flecks of ash shot into the sky.  Bull walked the perimeter, searching for a sign, something that would let him know that she still lived.  The structure continued to burn bright, the crackling of the fire filled his ears.  He knew Hawke was talking.  Bull heard none of it.  There was nothing but the flames, laughing, mocking him. 

He’d made a full lap, but kept going, swinging his maul at the stone foundation.  “Spitfire!  Sunset!  Where are you?!”

Hawke yelled over The Bull’s roars.  “Bull!  Maybe she got out!  Mayb-”

Bull’s training snapped to full attention at the way Hawke’s voice cut out.  The muscles in his back prepared for an attack as he turned to where he last heard Hawke.  A familiar lithe frame stood over the downed Champion.  All sharp angles, blood smeared down his face, the burning building made Gatt appear to be more demon than elf.

“Vhenan.”  There was a slight lisp to his words.  Gatt’s head injury must have been at least an hour ago to have his face swelling to that degree.  Bull’s eye narrowed, studied, as he listened to Gatt’s rambling.  “You spend all your time moving away from the Qun.  You find that _thing_ to wet your cock.”

Gatt spun his daggers, a trait Bull hadn’t seen since Seheron.  Whether it was intended or not, he recognized the stance as offensive.  A taunt Gatt used whenever he thought he had the upper hand. 

Poison. 

There wasn’t a need for a killing blow.  A scratch would be all he needed and with no armor, Bull had made it easy for the skilled rogue. 

“You left the Qun, well, so have I.  Is that what you wanted?  Is that what you need from me?”  Bull stood still, tense as Gatt came closer yet smartly staying out of reach of his weapon.  “Tell me Vhenan, I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“Where’s Praxis?”  Probably not the smartest question to ask the crazed elf, but at this point, Bull was making things up as he went.

“She’ll be dead soon.  As large as this fire is, it won’t be long before the rest of the Baresaad come from the docks to investigate.  Come with me.”  Gatt pointed with his dagger away from the nearby village.  “We can finally be together, just us.  No Qun, no death.  Run with me.”

“Qunari!”  Praxis’ voice battled the night, slowly becoming clear as she crawled near at a surprising speed on all fours.  “I’ll fucking kill you, you motherfucker.  I will kill every last one of you god damn ox-men!”

Bull’s heart sank as he looked at his lover trudging through the charred debris and overgrown weeds.  Her hair was matted and loose.  Her clothes, face, hands were all covered in blood of an unknown source.  Seeing her leg left behind when he rescued Krem and the soldiers had been one thing.  To actually see the damage that Gatt had done, broke him.  Bull fell to his knees, speechless. 

Gatt took advantage of his shock and rushed to his side, threatening him to stay still with the edge of his blade resting on Bull’s neck.  “Look at her, foaming at the mouth with madness.  Is that what you want?  A rabid pest that you can’t control?” 

Bull could smell the saar-qamek on the steel and counted back the days since his last dose of the antidote – too long. 

“She’s coming for you Bull.”  Gatt did a small dance as he stood behind him.  “Show me, prove to me that you wouldn’t abandon me.  Kill her!”

“No.”  Bull’s mind raced methodically, not nearly as rushed as he would have imagined for someone who faced imminent death.  He had nothing on him, notes or otherwise that would help bring her back from the darkness he’d seen at the Winter Palace. 

Gatt tapped Bull’s side with his blade, the point pressed firmly against the pocket of his armor’s under breeches.  “Then I will.  I will show you that I am worthy.  I am the better one.  I am what you deserve!”

Praxis’ stood up on her knees and withdrew her weapon from her waistband at the small of her back.  Calmly and confidently she pointed it at his head.  For a moment, Bull relived the day they met.  However, there was no Cullen there to save him.  In the event he was going to die, he ensured he flicked an appreciative glance at her lovely cleavage, just as he had that first day.

Gatt’s blade unintentionally tapped him again.  The pocket, her note.  Bull took a gamble.  “Inamorato!” 

Praxis blinked once, her head twitched, then she changed the angle of attack by swiveling her shoulders and fired upon Gatt.  Bull couldn’t help but flinch.  The sound was quieter than he expected, but still earsplitting.  The finality of Gatt’s death was astounding.  With piercing wounds, arrows and knives, there was usually a scream and cursing that followed the initial injury.

Not with this weapon.  Gatt fell hard to the ground in a clump.  Bull looked at his injury to find only one small hole where his left eye once was.  Head shots were of course lethal, but Bull had seen canons in action and was amazed that her weapon would have such a neat wound.  He wondered why they would use such weapons if such precision was needed for every shot.  Out of curiosity he turned Gatt’s head to the side.  The entire back of it was missing, including the contents of his skull.  Hallow.

“Hallow point bullets.  They expand on impact and shred through the body.  Large exit wounds cause the victim to bleed out before help can arrive.”  Bull hadn’t noticed Praxis joined him until she spoke.  “Did you know him?”

“Know him?”  Studying the dead elf, Bull felt nothing for the corpse that was the last reminder of the nightmare that was Seheron.  “No.  I never did.”

Bracing his hand on a knee, Bull made to stand, but was soon laid out on the ground. 

“The Bull!”  Praxis helped him turn as he vomited uncontrollably. 

His vision flashed black in time with his heartbeat.  Gatt must have nicked him as he went down.  Eventually the world, the sounds around him, all muted to a dull buzz as he succumbed to the poison.

 

_“Hurry!  This way!”_

_“This is stupid!”_

_“Do you want to argue with me?”_

_“Why is it so fucking hot?”_

_“Give me a hand!”_

_“No!  You’re fucking crazy!”_

Voices came and went.  He felt his body being moved.  Any attempt he made to assist went unanswered by his legs.  More than once, he felt the jarring discomfort of being dropped to the ground.

 

Bull woke suddenly as he tried to avoid choking on a liquid. 

“Easy!  I have nothing else to wear!”  Hawke’s voice was upset but his volume was schooled to stay low. 

Looking around, Bull blinked furiously to understand his surroundings.  The air was thick and warm.  They were in a cave of sorts, but it didn’t have the normal dank feel to it.  He sat near a fire that had stones neatly arranged around it to hide the flame from a distance.  Wherever they were, they were still in danger.

“What’s going on?  How long have I been out?”  Bull took the battered cup from Hawke and finished the contents.

“Your girlfriend is fucking crazy!  She’s out of her damn mind!”

Bull snapped his full attention on Hawke, irritated at his words.  Bull’s voiced dipped low with his threat, “You want to clarify that?”

“Look, I’m not saying that she’s lost her mind.  I’ve done some really crazy shit, but seriously, even I wouldn’t be that fucking stupid.”  Hawke pointed to a section of the cave that had been too dark for Bull to discern before his eye had adjusted to the low light.

“What the fuck is that?”  Bull spoke slowly as his mind tried to understand what he saw.  Maybe he was dead.  Maybe this was the Fade again. 

“It’s her _wyvern_.  Yeah, hers.  She wanted it and made me get my ass burned so she could have it.”

Bull kept staring at the bulky creature that was a little larger than a horse, thankfully just a baby.  Praxis was curled into a ball and slept with her body tucked into the creature’s curled neck.  It must have taken time to get the creature this docile, Bull felt a pang of dread at how long he’d been out cold.  “How long have I been out?” 

“A couple of days at least.  I lost track when we came down here.”  Hawke exhaled an exhaustive sigh.  “I hope you’re up for walking.  I have to admit that Kitty doesn’t like to carry you.”

“Kitty?”  Hawke could only be referencing the beast.  Bull scrubbed his face with his hands.  “This is Cullen’s fault, entirely Cullen’s for not doing as I asked.  He was supposed to explain the dangers of our world to her and I suppose creatures with claws, wings and fangs weren’t high on his list.”

“I’m going to ensure that Varric shares in some of that blame.  It was part of her justification for going after the blighted thing, ‘Varric says that there are wyvern riders in the free marches.’  Idiot dwarf.  I don’t know if I’ll buy him a round or punch him in the face.”

Bull looked again at the scaly creature that had attached itself to Praxis.  “We’ll see how the big bastard works out.  At least it’s still small enough it will be relatively easy to kill.”  Shaking his head in resignation, he turned to Hawke.  “Please tell me there was some sort of plan in coming down here.”

“She wants to get to Skyhold through Orzammar.”

“Wait, so we’re….fucking shit.  We’re in the Deep Roads aren’t we?”

Hawke laughed, still guarding the volume.  “And now you know why I haven’t killed the damn thing yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for all the kudos and comments, this has been a blast to put down.


	19. Recovery (ART)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio make it back to Skyhold and Praxis has trouble dealing with the transition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably going to be the darkest one, but I plan to make up for it with two succeeding chapters of shameless smut.  
> Also, I would like to thank all of those who have subscribed, bookmarked and commented. *tosses confetti* Yay.  
> Seriously. It makes my day.  
>  **TW: depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, addiction ******  
>   
> Portrait of Praxis was commissioned through[replica004](http://replica-004.tumblr.com/)

 

Praxis savored the ‘nothing’ that was sleep.  The darkness.  The way she slipped off, distancing herself from reality.  Each time she woke she felt a pang of regret that she lived through the night.  She often fantasized that darkspawn would swarm their camp and end it all.  Each battled she imagined how she would die, picturing every detail.

She raised her head from Kitty’s neck to glance over where Hawke and Bull were talking over the small fire.  Seeing Bull sitting upright on his own was a good sign.  Hawke had been honest from the beginning that he wasn’t sure how bad the wound was or if he’d live.  Praxis crawled around to Kitty’s head, dragging her hand along a soft spot under the jaw.  The creature mewled and crackled in a manner that reminded Praxis of the eerie noise The Predator made. 

Movies.  Fuck how she missed those. 

It hadn’t been easy to reach this level of trust, but after Hawke gave the wyvern a severe injury and their travel was slowed by Bull’s incapacitation, she’d had a reasonable amount of time to bond with the creature.  She focused on the lessons that she remembered from her friends who trained the military working dogs.  Thankfully Kitty was intelligent and loved being touched by anything softer than her claws.  Except the belly, holy Hell, never go near the belly. 

“Spitfire.” 

Praxis didn’t turn away from her petting.  She still wasn’t sure how she felt about Bull.  He stood next to her in silence for a few moments before he sat beside her, more than arm’s length, purposefully non-threatening.

“So, the Deep Roads.”

Praxis gave a nod, still averting her gaze.  “The number one rule when being pursued is to go into the absolute nastiest shit imaginable in the hopes they won’t follow.  I remembered the location of the entrance from one of Harding’s reports.  Since coming down here, we haven’t seen any Qunari.”

“Why Orzammar?  Aren’t there other exits?”

Praxis moved from scratching the jaw to taking one of the front claws in her lap and lightly tracing over the soft skin between the meaty digits.  “Perhaps, but Orzammar has the best smiths in Thedas, even better than the Inquisition and I need new legs.”

She’d said it deadpan, no different than if she needed a new shirt, but it still hurt.  Not one.  Two.  Two legs.    

Years ago when she was deemed ‘fit for duty’ after the ambush, she had fought and struggled hard to get back in the field.  The physical therapy, the fitness tests where ‘average’ wasn’t good enough, the battery of tests, all of them waiting for her to fail.  She couldn’t help but feel her stomach bottom out at the thought of doing it all over again.  Re-learn to walk, to run, to sit.  Everything. 

She picked up Kitty’s other front paw.  By now her fingers moved on their own, her mind adrift.  Bull had said something but she asked him to repeat it when she belatedly registered his questioning tone.

“Can I examine you?  You don’t have to look at me if you don’t want to.”

Stubbornly, she faced him.  Dark blueish skin, deep voice, piercing eyes.  Horns.  “I am not afraid.”

Looking at him, she wanted to throw up.

Mechanically, she forced her body to remain passive as he examined her.  He checked her tongue, although it was clear she could speak.  He found the knot on the back of her head hidden by her hair, the dark purple lines down her biceps, the bloodletting cuts in her forearms, the black fingernails, four of which were missing.  Through her shirt he found the tender spots from cracked ribs.  Then, he reached for her right leg.

She’d seen his powerful hands heft a maul as if it were a twig, crushing practice dummies into splinters.  She’d known he was capable of being gentle, but the way he touched her now…it helped.  He removed the bandages as delicately as if he were unfolding a budding flower, taking extra care to not cause any damage. 

He felt through her skin, following larger front bone to the cut end.  “They shaved the tibia to have a smooth end and removed the fibula since there was a massive crack up the remainder of the bone.”

Bull didn’t look up, only nodded as he kept looking over the still healing mangled flesh, prodding the seams to check for leaking or infection.  The Qunari didn’t rely as heavily on mage healers as the Inquisition did.  The technique and stitches were actually executed well.  Once the area was wrapped up again, Bull finally raised his head to meet her eyes. 

Praxis searched for an emotion, waited, listened, but nothing surfaced other than a slightly queasy feeling at how Bull resembled the guards who tortured her.  Anger festered deep within her, she hated them for that.

“You knew what to expect.”  It was a statement that held an element of surprise.

“People like us, we understand the need to train for eventualities.  Capture is always a possibility.”

Bull tried to reach for her again, but she leaned back.  “You need me to keep a distance?”

She rocked her head slightly to answer in the affirmative.  Thank God for Bull’s perceptive training.  Praxis was certain she wouldn’t have been able to explain the ‘why’ and Bull would never ask. 

Hawke joined them and handed Praxis the last of Bull’s food.  “We should get moving.  Our supplies won’t last and who knows how long it’ll take to get to Orzammar.”

Now that Bull could travel on his own, Praxis rode Kitty and even with a weakened Bull, they made better time than when she crawled alongside Hawke.  Kitty was big, but easily overburdened by Bull’s mass. 

Going through the winding tunnels, they met relatively few Darkspawn, mostly small groups.  If they saw them well enough in advance, Praxis used them as training practice for Kitty.  Hawke would help her down and she’d give the commands, ‘attack’, ‘to me’, ‘retrieve’.  She’d even have Bull run in the same direction as a form of competition, encouraging Kitty to be swift and stay on task. 

There was no telling how much time passed, only the cycles of hunger and exhaustion, gave any hint as to the time of day.  After a good number of ‘meal times’, they heard fighting down a tunnel and Hawke opted to scout it out before barging through with Kitty in tow. 

Alone for the first time since he woke, Bull broached the sensitive topic of ‘them’.  “You alright, Spitfire?”

She knew what he meant, what he was asking, ‘Are you still uncomfortable around me?’.  “I can’t deal with that now.  First we get to Orzammar, then fix my legs, then get to Skyhold.”

_Next_

_Next_

_Next_

Her hands shook and her blood felt cold.  She knew she was hurting him, but it was the truth.  Now wasn’t the time to deal with any of that, any of ‘them’.  The only thing that kept her from becoming lost to the abyss was the single goal of getting to Skyhold.  Her body craved it, her mind salivated at the thought.  At times, she even caught her mind singing a light tune using the tasks she had outlined, Orzammar, smith, Skyhold.  Orzammar, smith, Skyhold. 

Talking things out with Bull was a bad idea.  He’d only distract her and she needed this.  She had to have focus, had to have purpose.  If he took it away from her, she wouldn’t survive.

Bull’s eye never left her.  She could practically feel him peeling away at her veneer of stoicism.  His fingers poking into her chest and seeing the weakened soul within.  Defiantly, she kept his gaze.  There was no hiding what she was, and _that_ wouldn’t be decided until she spoke to Cullen. 

With an even tone, he surprised her.  “Don’t give up Spitfire.”

She had never felt so angry in her life.  The accusation was belittling and burned white hot inside her.  “Are you saying that I am?  Who got me out of their hands?  Who ensured we weren’t caught?  Do I look like someone who’s giving up?! Do I look like someone who isn’t strong enough?!”

The way she hissed and spit at Bull put Kitty on edge.  She now looked at Bull cautiously. 

“You’re at the breaking point Spitfire.  I can see it.  If not me than Hawke or…”

“Stecken!”  At the command, Kitty pounced on Bull who was too close to react defensively.  Her massive claws pinned him down as the creature’s nose puffed in his face.  Panic gripped her, her speech was rushed as her entire body shook.  “I don’t need your fucking sympathy!  I don’t want you to fix this!  I need you to back the fuck up and let me deal, s-so don’t-don’t you start this shit with m-me.”

The nightmare of years of rehabilitation came flooding back to her as she choked on her words.  The empty platitudes rom friends and family.  Careless, flimsy.  No one understood.  None of them knew what it was like.  Everyone had an answer, eagerly offered, but what the fuck did they know?

“Is that what you hear?  Fucking, shit…you want to do this on your own?”  Bull wisely didn’t struggle beneath the claws, but he was clearly uncomfortable.  A sick voice in the back of her head whispered deadly sugestions.  “You’re not stupid, you know what’s happening.  Answer yourself this: what are you going to do about it?”

“By the Paragons’ dusty asses!  You weren’t kidding!”

The unknown voice broke Praxis from her depressing spiral into the past.  Looking up, she saw Hawke had returned with a group of heavily armored dwarves. 

“Release.”  Kitty backed off of Bull to sit on her haunches.  She swiveled her head in anticipation of a treat, eager to be validated for her good behavior.  “Hawke, do you have anything left for her?”

Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out the last of the jerky they’d stolen while still top side.  “Commander Bownam is with the Legion of the Dead.  Says they’re headed to Orzammar as a last stop before joining the Inquisition.”

“Hmpf.  The deshers on the council left out the part about Inquisition members being nug-shit insane.  Whose bright idea was this?!”  He gestured toward Praxis’ mount but Hawke was already spilling into an explanation.  Praxis didn’t listen to their banter.  She petted Kitty and only waited for the magical words that would set them back on track.

“…Alright, let’s head out.”

Traveling with the Legion proved to be much quicker.  They were accustomed to traversing the terrain and knew which routes would have enough space for Kitty to fit, avoiding the whole pain in the ass of back tracking when passages became too narrow.  

Praxis spoke with no one for the whole journey.  She stayed with Kitty who served as her buffer from everyone, even Bull.  As they neared Orzammar They broke off into two groups, one with Bull and Kitty to find a way to the surface avoiding the dwarven city.  The other group went into Orzammar for supplies. 

Praxis rode on Hawke’s back to the smithy, the only practical way to get there, even dwarves would have tripped over her if she tried to move on all fours.  Threading through the crowd, she got stares, a few scrunched up faces of disgust.  She’d learned to brush them off years ago, but it hurt.  It always hurt.

As much as her blood blackened at the sound of Hawke’s voice, she had to admit that it was a good thing he was with her.  Suddenly dealing with people after being held captive for so long, proved to be taxing.  She had difficulty speaking her mind and Hawke eventually took over the negotiations completely.  When it came to design, she found it easier to sketch out the concept. 

“I’ll also need crutches.”  She added before the man set to work.

“What for?”  Hawke finished signing the papers that would bill Varric, the only name they could get the smith to accept as a form of credit. 

“The wound is still raw, plus I have to relearn to walk.  It’s not as simple as attaching a prosthetic and instantly running around.”

“I…”  Hawke huffed out a breath, looked around as if searching for the right thing to say.  “I often speak without thought. Anders used to tease me about that.  Varric still does.  Wow, he’s probably going to shit himself when we turn up.  I hope he hasn’t wasted any time writing my epic death scene.”  Hawke stroked his thick beard that lost some of its shape over the past few days.  “Actually, I hope he has.  It’d be interesting to hear how he hammed it up, although I doubt he’d ever be able to exaggerate the size of the nightmare demon.”

“What nightmare demon?”  While they waited near the smith’s, Hawke went through the entire ordeal of Adamant, the Wardens, and how he and Bull stayed behind. 

She was ruining things.  Everything that she and Bull had built together she was slowly taking apart.  She could see herself making all the wrong decisions that were pushing him away and couldn’t scream loud enough to make it stop.  Knowing that he stayed behind to fulfill her wishes made it burn hotter, searing her nerves until they crackled and popped beneath her skin.  She was nauseous again.

Still unsure of the passage of time, all she knew was that Hawke had brought four meals by the time the smith was complete with the rushed commission.  After the final adjustments to the straps, she stood slowly to test the feel.  Her left leg felt at home but the right was a new jumble of sensations.  Some spots were protesting, others happy at the pressure.  She could feel phantom pains as she applied more weight to the right which also set her stomach churning. 

“You sure that’s what you wanted?  They work alright?”  From the beginning Hawke was skeptical of the design she’d chosen.  The leg she had before had been easily hidden in a boot since it was similar to a foot in shape, but these were curved blades, just like the ones she’d learned to walk on the first time around. 

She hoisted her weight a bit to test the flexibility of the steel, bouncing a little.  “Exactly what I wanted.”

If people hadn’t stared before, they did now.  As alien as the design was, it was so familiar and normal to her that she actually felt more confident leaving Orzammar.  She still had to take it slow since things were still tender and her whole body had to get used to the changes. 

Beyond the gates, it was easy to find the encampment that had been set up.  “Where’s Kitty?”

Bull stood from the fire he was tending and turned to face her.  He wore some cheap, second hand armor for the journey back.  Just enough to give some protection if they came across anything along the way.  His eye swept her frame quickly, then looked at Hawke who made a slight shake of his head as he passed by in search of food. 

“Out hunting.  It seems the beast likes to create a stockpile of food.  Hopefully she’ll eat it all at once so we don’t have to haul it around.”  Bull stepped closer but stopped short of arm’s length.  A smile creeped up his face.  “You’re taller.”

She wanted to laugh.  She wanted to fall into his arms, but a darkness kept pulling her back.  Instead she suppressed the urges and walked past him.  “Guess so.”

Bull grabbed at her crutch to stop her, but quickly let go when she glared at him.  “You figured out what you’re going to do?”

 _What am I going to do?_ The thought ate at her, eroding away at her insides like an acid.  She knew what she wanted, knew what her body craved, was sickened by the dark voice that whispered to her in the moments of quiet.  _What will you do when you get to Skyhold?_

“I dunno.  Flip a coin perhaps.”

Bull wasn’t amused at her suggestion.  “Don’t make me help you.”

Without giving a response, she continued on to find an open spot by one of the fires.  At least there was some comfort in that.  Bull seemed determined to ensure she didn’t hurt herself.  It was a small victory until her mind poisoned it.  _You are free to do as you please.  He’ll make it better later.  You don’t need to suffer.  You know how to make this all better._

Sweet lies that she believed.

***

Leliana passed off the names of the Qunari spies to her trusted second to begin cleaning out the network.  All of the advisors followed the Inquisitor out of the castle, only Varric was added to their ranks.  Mahanon didn’t tell him why in the strange event the letter had been wrong about Hawke’s survival.  The small party made their way down the mountain on horseback, only a fifteen-minute ride.  The spot was far enough away that the tower guards wouldn’t see the large creature that was playing in the snowy glen before them.

“Andraste’s dimpled butt cheeks.”  Varric whistled his disbelief while they were all mesmerized by Hawke playing a game of ‘keep away’. 

“Cullen.”  Bull was leaning against a nearby tree, arms folded across his chest, one foot propped up on the trunk.  “I’m not one to criticize technique, to each his own, but given our current situation, I’m going to say your lessons with Praxis aren’t doing shit.”

Hawke gave off a war cry as he feinted, causing the scaly beast to tumble into the snow.  Shaking its head, snow flew everywhere, then it bounded after the Champion like an eager pup.  Hawke was knocked to the ground playfully and sent rolling near the Inquisitor.  He noticed the group when he came to a stop near their feet. 

“Varric!”  Pushing himself out of the snow, he dusted himself as he approached the group.  “Can’t say I’m not glad to see your hairy chest but damn, you know this is your fault, right?”  Hawke pointed to the creature that was now seeking attention from Praxis who leaned heavily on her crutches to scratch that soft spot under the jaw.

“Me?!”

“You’re the one who put the idea of wyvern riders in her head.”

“Oh, c’mon Peppermint.  Those are just stories!  Everyone knows that.”  Varric looked to his companions for support.

Bull pointedly spoke to Cullen.  “And you never taught her about dangerous animals.”

Mahanon pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to process what was happening.  “Wait.  Are you telling me that she domesticated a dragon because she didn’t know any better?”

Bull and Hawke chuckled, but Bull was the one to explain.  “She chose it because she thought it was a wyvern.  She just assumed all dragons were bigger, not even considering she’d stumbled upon a baby.”

Awestruck and a bit irritated, Cullen turned on Bull.  “And where were _you_ when she proposed this plan?”

“Poisoned.”  Bull shrugged off the concern at his old injury.  “Hawke dragged me the whole way until they were able to train Kitty to carry me.  I was probably out of it for four days.” 

The name was the final straw that made Mahanon snap.  He started laughing and couldn’t stop.  “I’m sorry Bull, it’s n-not you.  Kitty?  Kitty?!  Ha-ha-ha, she-she would pick something like that.”

Even Josephine hid an amused smile behind her delicate fingers as she became wrapped up in Mahanon’s uncontrolled laughter.  With a pleased grin, Mahanon started to walk to Praxis who still remained away from the group, ignoring the conversation. 

Bull reached out for his arm.  “Be gentle Boss, she’s still…dealing with what happened.”

The mood suddenly turned.  Mahanon looked to Hawke who nodded in agreement.  Steeling himself, the Inquisitor approached Praxis, stopping well short of the friendly embrace he wished to give. 

“Praxis, by the Creators, it’s good to see you again.  How are you?”  He, like everyone else, noticed the subtle increase in height.

“Fair.”  The single word was the only response she gave as she turned her attention back to Kitty. 

Mahanon looked her over more thoroughly, noting the obvious injuries and of course the reason for the crutches.  “Would you like to see the Healers?”

“I’ll watch after your pet.  She’s gotten used to me and I’m not quite ready for a feather bed just yet.”  Hawke walked up and took the makeshift reins from her and began leading Kitty away from the group. 

Praxis rode back with Cullen, the group only missing Varric and Hawke.  The ride was quiet, everyone clearly unnerved by Praxis’ behavior and uncertain how to address her capture until she brought it up first.

“Leliana, I don’t want you to mention that the list of spies came from me.”

Leliana turned in her saddle, “You may not be aware, but I have let rumors circulate that you may have been a spy yourself.  This act would engender your trustworthiness beyond a doubt.”

“That isn’t important.  Perception is reality.  You need everyone to believe that you rooted out the spies yourself, otherwise your abilities will be called into question.  Openly or not, _those_ types of rumors are far more damaging than anything I could be accused of.”

“I’m surprised they would have left such a list laying around.”  Josephine contributed.  “It seems too careless for Qunari spies.”

“They didn’t.” 

At that, Bull stopped his horse and reined up next to Praxis.  “You interrogated one of them?  Why didn’t you mention this before?  Praxis…”  Bull tried to reach for her, but quickly pulled his hand back when she flinched. 

Bull snorted loudly then spurred his mount ahead of the group.  At Bull’s rare show of frustration, the rest of the journey was done in silence.  Once inside the gates, Praxis slipped from Cullen’s mount with his help and headed for the healer’s quarters.  A few soldiers called out to her, but she ignored them, most saw her legs and kept their thoughts to themselves.

“Bull, what was that about, earlier when she wouldn’t let you touch her?”  Cullen glanced at Bull as the tal-vashoth watched Praxis disappear into the crowd. 

“She had to torture at least one of them to get the names.”  Leliana looked at Bull.  “Not an easy task I imagine.”

“No.” 

“What should we do?  How do we help her?”  Mahanon stepped closer in the circle of advisors, keeping his voice low.

Bull shook his head at a loss.  “What she endured at the Qunari’s hands, she can handle that.  I’m not sure if she’s had to torture someone before, but she obviously knows how, which means she’s at least had training.”  Scratching at his chin, Bull gave a little growl as he searched for an answer.  “All she would ever talk about was reaching Skyhold.  Something is here that she wants or needs.  I don’t know.  I can count on my fingers the number of times we’ve spoken since the Deep Roads.”

“The feeling of oblivion.  Her body weightless as she touches the gossamer of the stars, drifting far from the pain, the guilt.  Everything left behind, she can almost taste them, feel their tendrils snake beneath her skin.  Where are they?  Where are they?!”  Cole appeared but instead of facing the group he addressed, his head was tilted upwards to Cullen’s tower.

The Commander’s eyes widened in understanding.  He bolted for his office, taking the steps three at a time.  Bull moved to follow but Cole stepped in front of him.  “She cannot hear you now.  Only later will she be able to listen, now all she can do is shout over the noise, hoping to drown it out.  Later.”

When Cullen made it to his office, he found it in complete disarray.  Every drawer in his desk was pulled out.  Items and paperwork were scattered all over the floor.  He picked up one of the destroyed drawers that proved Praxis guessed that at least one of them had a false bottom.  She had found them. 

Cullen stood to go to the main castle but a well-dressed man barged through the northern door.  “Commander I have a complaint!  A woman burst into my rooms and refuses to extricate herself!  This is highly improper and uncalled for.  I demand that you fix this issue immediately.”

Their old room, of course she’d go there.  Cullen strode briskly out onto the battlements and called out to the first soldier he saw.  “Take this man to the Madame Ambassador.  I’ll have his things sent to his new quarters.”

Cullen gained speed as he headed for the upper floor of the tavern.  The repairs put the structure back the way it had been before the attack, but of course, none of Bull or Praxis things had been moved into the room since both had been presumed dead.  Cullen had to kick in the locked door and once inside, he shut it behind him with the help of a chair to keep it closed. 

Praxis ignored him as she worked on trying to smash open the pill bottle.  When they returned from Praxis’ world the healers did an excellent job in speeding up Cullen’s recovery from the heart surgery that he didn’t need the pills Praxis had gotten for him.  He held on to them, thinking there might be a use for them later at some point, at the time not knowing the full extent of Praxis addiction.  Once he did learn, he hid them and seeing her now, he wished he’d destroyed them.

She was using a fist sized piece of kindling to hit at the resilient orange container.  She didn’t look at him until he stopped her in mid swing by grabbing the wood.  Blood was oozing from her hands.  He shook her hand to empty it,  revealing the long gashes that sliced across her palms and fingers. 

“What is this?  What have you done?”

She avoided his eyes and spoke with a shaky voice.  “I tried to stop myself but it wasn’t enough.  It wasn’t enough.”

That explained why she couldn’t open the bottles.  With her hands ripped open like this, she couldn’t bypass the safety design of the lid.  Tears slowly fell down her face and she slammed her head against the wall, getting in three solid hits before Cullen dragged her away.

“No!  You can’t do that, c’mon, you’re better than this.  You want me to get Bull?”

Her eyes continued to leak, but her body never fell into a crying fit.  “The Bull?  The Bull?  I have…I am worse…he tried and I can’t…”  She stopped to take a steading breath.  “The only thought that kept me alive, that kept me going, that made me endure, was the thought of returning here with the hope of getting to these.  Not him.  I don’t deserve him.”

She flicked the cracked bottle toward Cullen who snatched it up, concealing it easily in his large hands.  “This is your lyrium.”  He whispered it more to himself than to her.  “That one thing that will make the world better, bearable.”

Cullen searched his mind for what to say, to remember how he once was.  He remembered howling at Cassandra, insulted by her words and humiliated by her offers of comfort.  The implied weakness used to gnaw at his stomach and made him even more desperate for the escape lyrium could bring.  Looking down at the broken woman before him, he saw a reflection of himself locked in a ship’s hold on the voyage over the Waking Sea.  Delusional, frantic, and too short sighted to make his own decisions. 

Using his fingertips, he tilted her chin so their eyes met.  “I understand.”

Since arriving at Skyhold, Praxis had been a whirlwind of emotions that she tried to hide from the world around her.  Phrases danced around her mind, but a dark voice broke them down. 

 _I need to be strong_ , **but why**? 

 _He needs me,_ **he’s fine without you, better without you.**

 _I have work that needs to be done_ , **you are a liability, a whipping boy.**

 _I don’t need it,_ **which means you can stop when you want, take it just this one time…**

 _My friends_ … **never wanted you and would never miss you.**

She watched Cullen open the bottle with little difficulty.  He tapped out two pills into his palm and held it out to her.  “It’s time for you to decide.  I want to help, if you’ll accept it.”

 _What are you going to do about it?_   Bull’s voice cascaded over Cullen’s. 

**The Bull will tire of you, you’re a burden.  Hideous.  There are plenty of others that would be more pleasurable sights in his bedsheets.  Do him a favor.**

“Give all of them to me.”  Cullen exhaled heavily through his nose in disapproval, but he poured the pills onto the floor in front of her.

Looking down on the pile she thought about how annoying it would be to swallow all of them.  She might throw them up and that would be a waste.  She could crush them, press her hands into the powder, letting the morphine soak into her blood stream.  A final burst of exhilaration to ride.

If it worked.

She closed her eyes.  The memories of her last recovery were now fresh wounds, infected with the added insult of being here.  Ripped from what little family she had left, her mother, brother, the kids…here, she had nothing

**You are nothing.**

**You will die unwanted and un-mourned in this God forsaken land.**

**Live your final hours for you.**

Cullen watched her in silence, knowing she walked the knife’s edge.  Everything he thought to say only echoed in his mind as being shallow, words that once angered him in his darkest hours, regardless of how sincere the intent had been.  They were nothing but phrases people felt obligated to say to try and ward off the uncomfortable storm clouds that hovered over a person deemed to be ‘disturbed’, ‘manic’, or simply ‘losing it’.  Somehow the attempts to offer help always seemed to push him further away.  He had to avoid everything Cassandra ever said to him.

He was left with the only thing that made any bit of sense, “Don’t be afraid.  Whatever you’re feeling right now, hurt, rage, helplessness – it’s right, you’re not wrong for being this way.”

Praxis pushed the pills into a tighter pile.  Her body felt like a shell filled to the brim with barbed wire.  Each movement was paint that pierced straight to her spine, shooting up into her skull, turning up the volume of _that_ voice.

 _I am not wrong_ , **you cannot win this.**

_I am not wrong,_ **anyone else can do it better.**

_I am not wrong_ , **you won’t last through the night.**

She cupped every last oblong pill that came from the bottle.  Some of them were dissolving in her still oozing blood. 

 _What are you going to do about it?_   The Iron Bull.  Inamorato. 

Cullen’s hand slowly reached for hers, but she jerked back and then tossed the offending drugs into the fire.  Her heart shrieked at the sight and every nerve in her body riled.  When she realized she was the one who was actually making that noise, she clapped her hands to her mouth but immediately flung them away, frightened of any residue that might be on them.  Her delirium presented her with an idea to cleanse her hands and she acted on it without thought. 

She shoved her hands into the fire, holding them against a white ashen log.  She would have kept them there longer if Cullen hadn’t dragged her away, this time all the way to the other side of the room.  She felt him fuss over her, tilt her head, examine her hands before running for the door.  Praxis didn’t care who he was talking to, she only watched the small tendrils of smoke waft from her palms.  They reminded her of cartoon smoke coming from a dragon’s nose. 

The smell was abominable, **no better than you deserve, should have thrown yourself in.**

Her eyes watered at the words but her body refused to cry.  The steady stream flowed down her cheeks as Cullen returned to her side.  She leaned against the soft fur of his overcoat, her energy gone.  **Failure.**   There was no motivation.  Consuming, gluttonous emptiness.  **Worthless.**

Cullen backed away, steading her against the wall when Stitches arrived.  He gave her a full examination at Cullen’s request who left the room for her privacy.  Watching him work, she couldn’t help but think about how pointless his efforts were.  **There is no reason for him to save you.**

***

Trusting Cullen, Bull had gone to the tavern.  There, he found that no one had claimed his usual haunt and he took his seat and gave a familiar wave to a serving girl.  It wasn’t long before an armored man burst through the door.  Covered in dust from the training ring, Krem came up to Bull. 

“You one-eyed, bloody bastard.  Can’t even stay dead properly can you?”  Krem cocked his head as he examined Bull.  “Something wrong?”

Bull inclined his head as he used his foot to pull a nearby chair closer.  Krem spun the chair before he sat, his arms folded on the raised back and his chin resting on the cool metal of his gauntlets.  “You look like shit Chief.”

“I found Praxis.  She came back with us.”

Krem perked his head up at the news.  “Maker’s flaming nut sac!  I thought…fuck.  How is she?”

“I don’t know.  She’s a hard read, even harder when she’s hiding something.”  The serving girl handed Bull his drink, of which he threw half of it back instantly.  “Cole says she doesn’t need me.”

As if on cue, an unholy scream came from the top floor of the tavern.  Everyone looked up except Bull.  What Praxis was doing in their old room, he couldn’t guess.  All he knew was that he had to struggle to tamp down the urge to run to her side.  Krem’s gaze darted from the rafters to Bull and back again.

“You’re not going to do anything?”

When Bull shrugged, Krem scooted his chair closer and eased his chin back on his arms.  They both sat for a moment, neither looking at anything in particular.  At some point, Krem received a mug as well.  A few of the Chargers poked their heads into the tavern but when they made to join the two, Krem waved them off.

In the solitude of their corner, Krem spoke low enough that only Bull could hear him.  “I’m not going anywhere.  I got your back, Chief.”

Bull clapped him casually on the shoulder, but the desperate grip with which he held on, conveyed his thanks.  When their eyes caught, Krem saw a bit of Bull’s fear.  On instinct, Krem lunged forward and punched Bull hard in the gut.  He could smell the huff of ale tainted wind he’d knocked out of the big guy.  His other hand grappled onto Bull’s neck and forced the two to head-butt painfully together.  Krem hissed at his boss, “Horns up.”

Bull couldn’t help but laugh as he shoved Krem back into his chair.  “Don’t go getting sappy on me, I don’t need a Vint stuck to my ass.”

“At least I don’t have the stink of darkspawn dripping off me.  Surprised they let you in here.”

“They let you in, must have pretty low standards.”  Bull continued to drink his ale but with a greater sense of ease than when he began.  No matter what happened, Krem would be there.

The next couple of hours were spent slowly drinking ale and straining his ears to hear anymore from above.  The tavern patrons were slowly thinning out when a Stiches clamored down the stairs.  “Commander has asked for you Chief.  He’s upstairs, with ‘er.”

Solemnly, Bull rose to follow but paused.  “Hey, Krem, do you still have that nug I left in the Chargers’ camp before Adamant?”

“Yes, you want me to bring it to her room?”

“You know where it is?”  Bull rolled his eyes with a small groan at the inappropriately smug grin on the man’s face.  “Of course you do.  Why don’t you use some blood magic so you can get out of my face quicker?”

The healer turned to finish his round trip.  Behind his back, Krem gave Bull a reassuring pat on the back that steeled the tal-vashoth’s nerves. 

At the newly constructed room on the third floor, Bull paused at the door where Cullen waited.  “Stitches, I have to ask.  How well did you examine her?”

“Well enough.  I’v no pleasure in tellin’ ya she’s been through the meat grinder, that one.”  Stitches raised a questioning brow at his boss.  “You askin’ if they done gone an’…”

“I know how they think.  They wouldn’t squander her abilities if there were some way to exploit it.”  Bull hated admitting to having had the thought, but if it had crossed his mind to try and breed her, there was no doubt his superiors had similar inclinations.

“No that I can tell.  If’n that t’were their thinkin’, wouldn’t do no good anyways.  She can’t have any young’ens.  Although, never mention’d that she’s had ‘em before neither.”

Bull was a bit surprised at this news, but Cullen wasn’t.  “You knew, did’t you?”

Backing away, Cullen shielded himself with raised hands.  “That is for her to explain.  I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Brushing past, Bull filed the subject away to be reattacked another day.  Pushing the door open, he knocked as he peered around the door’s edge.  Praxis was sitting calmly on the floor, wearing a blank expression.  She had the appearance of a ragdoll more so than a person.

“She just calmed down.  I think you should take her back to her room.  Keep her there.  She tossed the last of the painkillers into the fire.  She didn’t take it well.”  Cullen spoke over Bull’s shoulder, who didn’t even glance at the man when he answered.

“I can’t imagine so.”  She had admitted she had a dependency issue after her first amputation and that the lingering cravings were still present even after all these years.  Having to face that temptation again head on must have been brutal.

Bull collected her in his arms, cradling her body, conscious of possible pressure points while he carried her through the main castle.  Krem met them at Praxis' chamber door and opened it wide to let them pass.  Bull had to shift her around in his arms since Praxis kept her bed made with the pillows at the foot of the bed.  A subtle hint that she had eventually planned to have Bull stay the night here.

Krem hung back, never crossing the threshold.  Bull caught the little stuffed nug that Krem tossed over, the stuffing still threatening to come out the neck.  "Couldn't spare five minutes to fix it?  Didn’t know running the Chargers would strain you so much."

"Naw.  Too busy drinking and chasing women.  Someone's had to fill your big ass chair while you were out picking flowers in the Deep Roads."

"Yeah, remind me I thank your girlfriend for telling Praxis where to find those."  He half meant it.  They probably wouldn't have escaped from the barasaad otherwise.

"You'd better be nice about it or she'll put an arrow in your ass when you least expect it."  Krem craned his head to look at the bundle that was once his lover.  "Hey, Chief.  You need anything, the boys and I will take care of it."

"Thanks."  Bull felt uncomfortable being in the strange position of having to rely wholly on his team.  "It's been a log day, we could use some food then you and the boys can go help Hawke with the dragon.  Hey, the stupid thing is her pet, so try to not kill it.”

"Alright."  Krem looked again at Praxis.  

Bull shoved his shoulder, "Hey, it's not your fault.  They came for me."

Krem nodded as he backed into the hall, disappearing around the corner.  Bull tucked the stuffing back into the nug's neck as he walked back to the bed, sitting near her feet.  He jostled the bed when he set the stuffed animal in front of her face, ensuring he caught her attention. 

“If you need someone to talk to…”  pinching the neck between two fingers, he made the nug cock its head from side to side.

Praxis finally snapped.  Snatching up the goofy little thing she curled into the fetal position around it protectively and released everything.  Her sobs exploded.  She could probably count the number of times in her life that she had broken down completely, but none had been like this, not even her father’s funeral.  Pouring all of her emotions into it, she felt as though it would never stop.  There were too many reasons to keep going, her time with the Qunari, the horrors of the Deep Roads, a home lost forever, a culture abandoned.  She wanted the tears to drain her soul completely. 

**There is nothing for you here.**

The voice was relentless and pushed her to cry harder.  Her body convulsed and the bedding became moist.  It took a while, but she reached a point where she was too tired to cry full force and could speak soundly.  “The Bull?”

Bull hadn’t moved from his spot, nor had he touched her throughout her entire emotional purging.  “Kadan.”

“Talk to me.  Tell me stories.”  She patted the empty space on the bed beside her, the first invitation he’d had since her rescue. 

Bull removed everything but his breeches and carefully climbed over her to lay down on his back.  He chose the more comical stories from jobs The Chargers took on.  He lost track of time, but it had certainly been more than an hour when Praxis finally moved to press her cheek to his arm, her fingers interlacing over his forearm.

“I’m never going to change.  This will happen again and again and again.  There will be good days and bad.  This isn’t something that will go away.” 

“I know.” 

There was long period of silence, but Bull didn’t mind.  She wasn’t pulling away from him.  Her mind knew that he wasn’t a threat, that he had nothing to do with those who at tortured her, but the body was not as forgiving and survival instinct would always win out.  It would take time for her body to relearn how to live in freedom.

He hadn’t even paid attention to his drifting consciousness until he felt Praxis fingering the dog tag he wore.  “This is all that I am.”

Bull turned on his side and cupped her jaw, his heart raced with excitement when she didn’t flinch.  “We are more than a number, Kadan.”

“Inamorato.”  Praxis pressed her hand to the center of Bull’s chest.  “You came for me.”

“Hey, don’t forget that I kicked a demon’s ass for you.  I don’t think the Boss got a scratch on pretty little elven ass.”  When she chuckled at that, Bull finally felt the first shred of optimism that things would work out.  “Besides, it’s like you once said, ‘no one left behind’.”

***

Dorian crested the top of the stairs in the Inquisitor’s quarters.  “You should hear the buzz of excitement in the great hall.  I know I did.  The voices carried all the way to the library, I had to abscond here to find a modicum of peace.  A dragon in service to The Mighty Herald and a loyal Commandant that ‘allowed’ herself to be captured in order to bring down the Qunari spy network that had weaseled its way into the Inquisition.  I am certain Varric is positively green with envy at the tales your Spymaster and Ambassador are able to weave.”

Dorian walked behind Mahnon who sat at his desk going through suggested plans, weighing the possible outcomes and the cost to the Inquisition.  There was always a cost and it seemed the closer they got to Corypheus, the higher that price came which wasn’t always paid with gold. 

“Thank you for ensuring her return did not see her become a pariah.  I’m in no mood to entertain the notion of competition.”  Dorian’s hand snaked up Mahanon’s throat and tilted his head to one side.  Marking a trail of light kisses up the sensitive skin, Dorian’s velvety voice danced in Mahanon’s ear, erasing any thoughts of working late into the night.  “Come to bed Amatus.  It’s been a long day and you need your beauty sleep.”

Mahanon couldn’t resist, “I take it you don’t need any?” 

“Of course not.  I am the epitome of perfection at any hour of the day or night.”  Dorian’s other hand found the seam of his lover’s jacket.

Mahanon stopped him from undoing the second button to turn over Dorian’s hand.  Tucked into his palm was a vaguely familiar amulet.  “What’s this?”

“Ah. This you may recall,” He played with the chain before setting it down on the desk.  “is the fabulous piece of magic that sent us to that ghastly alternate future.” 

“Really?  I thought you gave it to Solas.”

“I did, but after what happened at the Winter Palace I became concerned for the amulet’s well-being.  I asked Dagna to keep an eye out for it, since she is the logical choice to destroy any unknown magic.”

“What do you mean unknown?  I thought your old mentor made it.”

Dorian flicked his wrist to let the gem pulse with magic.

_‘Are we ready for another trial?’_

_‘Fire it up.’_

_‘Shit, shit, shit, aw, fucking shit!’_

_‘Shut it down!  Shut it down!’_

There was a small burst of sparkling light just as the voices faded once again.  “Did you see that bit of a light show there at the end?  That wasn’t me.  Those voices, are her people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: In honor of Femslash February Cassandra and Josephine will learn about Valentine’s
> 
>  
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr](http://sixlilypetals.tumblr.com/) where most of my posts are Dragon Age, silliness, and NSFW.


	20. Happy Valentine's (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Josephine finally reunite after spending much of their time working beside each other and never finding time to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a little late for Valentine's but still in time for femslash February. Enjoy or skip as you desire :)

Josephine stood in the Skyhold gardens leaning on the balustrade to peer down at the training yard.  A natural smile made her expression glow in the afternoon light.  She gave a wistful sigh as she propped her cheek on a raised hand.

“Enjoying a break for once?”

Josephine jumped at little at the unexpected company.  She faced Praxis and wore a practiced smile, but for the Commandant, it was genuine.  “Commandant, I am pleased to see you moving around with greater ease.  How are you feeling?”

Praxis still used the crutches, but her leg wasn’t nearly as stiff as it had been recently.  “I feel wonderful, actually.  This is my first day without The Bull following my every move.  I wanted to thank you and Leliana for the story you crafted concerning my capture.”

“I would say ‘you’re welcome’ but surly you know that you earned the right to be treated better than fodder.”

“A pleasant sentiment, but don’t forget that one day, the Inquisition won’t be able to afford such a luxury.  Still, thank you.”

Josephine only nodded in response to the macabre comment.  “I understand that you will resume your old post.  The Inquisitor has invited Frederic of Serault to assist with training and raising your dragon.”

Praxis blushed as she laughed, “Yeah, I really thought the little babe was a wyvern, but I have no regrets.  Kitty will be an excellent asset or trophy.”

“I thought you were rather attached to her.” 

“Oh, I am, but I’m not so foolish as to think she is completely safe to be around.  We will learn what we can, and if needed, The Bull has already called dibs.  However, I have made it my goal to ensure that doesn’t become necessary.  I hope this Frederic is of a similar mind of preservation?”

“Quite.  He’s made the study of dragons his life’s work.  I believe you two will get along quite nicely.”  Josephine perked up at the thought.  According to the Inquisitor’s notes, Frederic was overjoyed at the prospect of studying a dragon up close and was equally ecstatic to work with the person who semi-domesticated it.  Josephine still had nightmares about the night Haven was destroyed by Corypheus’ dragon and if the Inquisition could level the playing field in that regard, so much the better.

Praxis grinned as she turned her attention to the training yard.  “Speaking of assets, Cassandra’s ass is looking particularly fine today.”

“I-I couldn’t possibly say.”  Josephine averted her eyes, taking sudden interest in the elfroot sprouting in a nearby container. 

“You could, but you won’t.  You guys like keeping it on the DL.  I can respect that.”  She let the pause settle for a bit, studying the way Josephine pretended to be absorbed by the sprout’s tiny leaves.  “I was recently telling The Bull about a holiday we have back home, Valentine’s.  It’s a bit silly, but seems like something you might be interested in.”

The Ambassador raised her head, willing to at least hear her out, but holding back some reservation knowing the _unique_ relationship she and Bull had. 

“It’s a day that is set aside and spent entirely lavishing your loved one with all the praise and gifts you feel they deserve.  When was the last time you and she _really_ took some time to enjoy yourselves?”

It had been awhile.  Cassandra was one of the most capable soldiers in the Inquisition and went with Mahanon on nearly every mission.  Josephine met with dignitaries at all hours of the day which increased the difficulty of their spending time together.  She honestly couldn’t remember when they last spend quality time together.  Every recent memory was of rushed moments in her office or in dark corners. 

Praxis inched closer, “When did you last take your time removing her armor?  Peeling away the hard steel to expose her soft skin so it glowed under flickering candlelight.  Her deep laugh skipping around the room as your hot lips suckled all of her tender spots.  Your fingers playing her body like a lute, your heart skipping a beat each time she writhes beneath you.”

“Please stop _._ ”  She whispered it half-heartedly.  The fantasy Praxis painted was perfect.  Hearing her desires spoken aloud made her realize how badly she wanted an hour, just one bloody hour to be alone with Cassandra.

“So, it has been a while.  Look, they leave for another mission in the Emprise tomorrow.  Why don’t I help you set up a nice little get away for you two?  Make it a surprise for when she comes back.”

“What leads you to believe that I would need assistance?”

“I’m not saying you’re not capable.  I’m simply offering an outsider’s perspective to ensure the experience is fresh, different, and above all, memorable.”

Josephine bit her bottom lip as she considered the proposition.  “Alright.  Time to be bold, no half measures.”  She nodded eagerly with a broad, enthusiastic grin.  “I’ll do it!”

 

The Inquisitor’s team arrived from the Emprise three weeks later.  Once inside the gates, Praxis met Bull, Dorian met the Inquisitor and Hawke steered Varric to the tavern.  Cassandra took her time passing off her horse to Master Dennat then marched to the smith’s with perfect posture, which her battle weary body fiercely protested and she stubbornly ignored.  She refused to show how much it pained her that she couldn’t be greeted by her lover at the gates. 

A small part of her played out a lovely scene in her imagination of Josephine smiling from the top of Skyhold’s steps, grinning with elation as she rushed down and leapt into Cassandra’s open arms.  The image of Josephine in a dress that swirled as Cassandra spun her around made the warrior smile coyly to herself.  A tiny blush warmed her cheeks. 

In the smith’s, she dropped off her armor for repairs and in the privacy of the near empty building, Cassandra slouched as she walked up the stairs to her makeshift office, rubbing at her neck and arching her sore back.  At the top of the stairs she was surprised to see a small white box with a pink bow laying in the center of her desk.  A small giddiness budded within her chest as she eagerly, but delicately untied the ribbon. 

Inside the box was a key with a card inscribed with the location of a room in the guest wing of the castle and simple instructions – _bring nothing._

As she traversed through the winding corridors, she thought about what might be in store for her.  The handwriting was certainly Josephine’s, but that was the only part of the mystery that she was able to figure out.  She tried to keep her hopes realistic, tried to not overthink anything but her happiness was her own enemy.  Was she supposed to come now?  Should she change?

One thing that helped to tamp down her expectations was the fact that there was a War Council in a few hours and she was scheduled to lead training in the morning, so there was little hope of the grand gestures she read about in the novels she hid in her room.

Standing at the door, she could feel her pulse quicken.  Facing demons in battle never generated this type of excitement.  That was survival, doing the will of the Maker.  This moment was pure indulgence, the decadent whipped cream of life and it made her body hum with exuberance.  She had to steady the small tremor that made the key jingle when she inserted it in the slot. 

Her breath was stolen immediately when she entered the small room.  She quickly shut and locked the door behind her as she took in décor.  To the side by the window was a large tub set on a platform of smooth stones.  On a table was an open bottle and a glass filled with bubbly wine with fruit floating in the center.  She fingered a cream colored silk robe that lay on the table as she sipped the wine.  Upon closer inspection, there was another card.

_Bathe, relax, enjoy.  I will meet you in the next room at five bells._

Ignoring the instructions, Cassandra immediately went to the adjoining door and tried to open it.  The locked door didn’t budge.  Let with no other avenue for snooping out what came next, she shucked her clothing with gusto, infinitely glad to be out of the dirt stiff garments.  When she stepped on the stone platform, she was amazed that they were warm.  She could instantly feel her body begin to relax.  Peering into the tub she smiled at the sight of rose petals and frangipani stars floating in the water.  Clearly Praxis or Bull had some involvement in this, but as she lowered herself into the perfectly heated bath, she wouldn’t have cared if they were in the room watching her.

Her senses were inundated with exotic floral smells from the oils mixed into the water.  Taking a cloth from the nearby table, she slowly scrubbed her body thoroughly.  She could feel the oils working their way into the cracks of her calloused skin, smoothing out the roughness left by the missions.  The heat of the water bit at her skin and dug into the cords of her muscles.  She truly felt the weight of her armor, her duties, finally slip away from her shoulders.  Her mind drifted aimlessly with the steam floating off of her skin.  Tilting her head back on the padded edge, Cassandra fell into a light sleep. 

The faint bells outside the window roused her some time later, but it was the rattling of the locked door that jerked her upright in the tub.  Her body tensed and her stance reflexively prepared to pounce and strangle whomever dared enter the bathing room.  The door remained closed. 

Surmising it had to be Josephine, Cassandra reluctantly left the sanctuary of the tub to towel off.  Although she was impatient, she couldn’t resist using the skin cream that was left out for her.  After letting it dry, she donned the robe which felt even more luxuriously soft after the pampering.  The odd looking slippers turned out to be lined with lamb’s wool on the inside.  Her feet had never known such happiness and she had to physically restrain herself from giggling aloud. 

Composed and shoulders straight, Cassandra let herself through the newly unlocked door.  She gasped in wonderment at the scene created before her.  Long strips of sheer, red fabric were hung from ceiling starting at the center of the room then draped outward to give the room an exotic tent atmosphere.  Candles were placed in clusters about the room, flower petals cushioned her every step.  In a corner was a dwarven water clock that had been modified so that the water trickle over chimes, the ethereal sound softly dancing throughout the space.  In the center was a pallet ringed with pillows that were heavily decorated in beads and an embroidery.  It was a masterpiece come to life.  She felt transported a million miles away from the world. 

Seeing a try with fresh glasses of wine and fruit, she decided logically that was where she should wait.  She removed her slippers, then stepped onto the pallet to find that it was well padded and topped off with a down feather stuffing that made her toes disappear as she walked to the center.  She sat next to the tray, delighted with the small selection of snacks.  She picked at them idly until she heard a voice from behind the changing partition. 

“Are you ready?”  Josephine’s Antivan accent was heavier tonight which made Cassandra’s stomach flip with glee. 

Cassandra eased herself onto the pillows, leaning back on her elbows and crossing her legs at the ankles elegantly, covering most of her body with the robe but allowing some skin to peek out. 

“Of course.  Come to me, my Antivan delicacy.”  All thoughts of arranging herself to seductively entice her lover were vaporized the moment Josephine stepped out from behind the ornate partition. 

Gold colored lace sparkled over her plump breasts.  Sheer fabric hung from the lace, gracing her generous hips.  Behind the shimmer, Cassandra was entranced to see small gemstones dangling from a silver rod piercing through her bellybutton that had never been there before.  Dark scrollwork henna accentuated the top curve of Josephine’s firm thighs and tasty hipbones.  Cassandra wet her lips slowly, her tongue wanting to explore the newly decorated playground.      

Josephine stood in the center of the room a few feet from Cassandra when she pulled the ties loose from her lingerie, letting it flow over her body and puddle on the cushioned floor.  Josephine spun slowly, allowing Cassandra’s gaze to rake over her entire body, following the organic spread of the henna tattoo that curved over the waist and spilled up her back.  Her long arms skillfully cinched up her long obsidian hair to a bundle at the nape of her neck.  By the time she faced the warrior again, her raised arms emphasized the exquisite teardrop shape of her breasts and framed her lovely face.

Cassandra felt like a lecher when she realized she hadn’t even glanced at her face until now.  She was breathtaking.  The bright red of her lips were a ripened fruit begging to have a bite taken from them.  Her eyes were painted in a way she’d never seen before.  A bronzed gold color began at the inner corner then darkened into a rich chocolate brown as it flared outwards that made Josephine’s eye smolder. 

Unable to stay silent an appear ungrateful at the effort Josephine had put into everything, Cassandra drummed up a poem that always reminded her of the Lady Ambassador.

_Beautiful lady, a smile so bright,_  
So warm and gentle, so soft. A delight.  
A voice so clear,  
That calms and soothes, a voice that wipes all fears.  
  
Beautiful lady,  
I'll give to you, my thoughts, my prayers, my hopes,  
I offer you my heart, my strength.  
My love is yours forever.  
  
Beautiful lady,  
I love you as you are.  
Beautiful.

Josephine fluffed her hair on last time, letting it cascade perfectly over her shoulders with an appreciative giggle.  “I will never cease to be amazed by your repertoire of poetry, querida mia.”

“I feel that I should lock you away lest you catch the eye of some author or painter who would whisk you away to be their muse for all eternity.” 

“I suppose that Master Tethras doesn’t count?”  Josephine flashed a half smile as she sat down on her knees.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.  “No.  He most certainly does not.”

“Join me.  I’d like to try something different.” 

Cassandra moved to the spot that Josephine patted and sat as she did. 

Josephine spoke in a low, level voice that blended well with the twinkling of the chimes.  “I want you to let the world slip away for a moment.  I have arranged everything so that no one will need us until tomorrow evening.  We have no obligations.  Nothing to disturb this moment.”  Josephine took a deep measured breath, releasing it slow and controlled.  “Do as I do, mirror everything, but deviate as you need.  I will talk you through it.  First, remove your robe.”

Following the instructions, Cassandra disrobed but took a little extra time to ensure it lay properly to prevent any creases from taking.

“Touch yourself.  Awaken your senses.” 

A bit hesitant, Cassandra mimicked Josephine, not quite certain as to what she meant.  The Antivan traced long lines down her arms, drew circles around her breasts, then ghosted over her own thighs.  Cassandra found that the longer the exercise went on, she imagined it was Josephine touching her instead and moved her fingers to press harder in spots she favored, paying attention to where Josephine lingered as well. 

Now that they were moving as one, Josephine permitted attention on the more sensitive areas.  She rubbed her nipples in tantalizing circles while Cassandra flicked and pinched her own with her index finger.  Watching her partner toy with herself was immensely erotic, greater than any worn out book Cassandra ever owned.  A voice in her mind begged, _let me do that to you._

Their hands moved over their stomachs and dipped down between their legs.  The first bit of pressure on her nub was surprisingly intense.  Cassandra watched Josephine react with equal wonder.  They weren’t even touching each other, and yet, she felt deeply connected with her lover.  She had always caressed and praised, telling her what a wonderful woman she was, but this time, they were presenting themselves to each other. 

“I give you all that I am, for we are one.”  Josephine spoke the words as if reading Cassandra’s mind.

Their bodies began to undulate, hips rhythmically swaying, each woman slightly different than the other.  Cassandra felt her skin warm, her folds becoming moist and hot as her breaths came out as heavy pants.

Josephine admonished her with a small shake of her head.  “Not yet, slow.  Take deep, steady breaths.  Think of nothing but your desires.”  Cassandra followed her lead, placing a hand on her heart.  Feeling the pulse there, she knew why it beat faster.  “Feel our love swim in your body.”    

She could feel it.  Cassandra closed her eyes and thought of nothing but how precious their love was, how they connected mind and soul.  Her body hummed with exhilaration, awash in that sweet rush of lust that was always described in novels and rarely experienced by mortals.  Sucking in a deep breath, she could finally smell the hint of rose water that Josephine always preferred.  The heat in her core reacted instantly forcing her to move her hand to cup the Antivan’s neck and gently bite her exquisitely dark skin.

Giggling, Josephine used a hand to push Cassandra back.  “No, no.  Not yet, cara mia.”

“I need you.  I want you, please.”  The words came in gusts as Cassandra continued to work her body.

Josephine pushed the pliant Seeker into the plush bedding.  She lowered herself to crawl over Cassandra, taking extra care to try and avoid any touching, but her breasts hung too low and her nipples ghosted Cassandra’s body, from her hips all the way up to her lips. 

Feeling Cassanda’s tongue dart out rebelliously, she chided her.  “Not yet, patience.”

Reaching above Cassandra’s head, Josephine dug out an object that had been hidden beneath the pillows.  Drawing herself back, Cassandra watched as Josephine tied a sash about her waist and in the front dangled a small pouch that hid her clitoris. 

“I need you to activate this.  Praxis says it’s the same as the ones in her office.”

Cassandra took the small rune offered and used her Templar abilities to shift the magic in a manner that activated the rune.  She dropped it when it began to vibrate in steady pulses.  Josephine snatched it up quickly and deposited in the waist pouch.  Cassandra cracked a delighted half smile as she chuckled at the stone’s purpose.  Josephine straddled one leg to interlock their bodies as Cassandra used her raised leg to hook around the Ambassador’s hips.

It was when Josephine leaned forward that Cassandra truly felt the full effect of the vibrations.  The pouch was padded and the way that Josephine purposefully rocked her hips, added the precise pressure her body hungered for.  The animal within had the warrior howling as she bucked up, demanding more, needing to take as her hands clawed fiercely into Josephine’s plump rear.

Josephine backed off, Cassandra mewled as the magical sensation was gone, a faint tingle left in its place that sent her hand thrusting between her legs, fiercely seeking that pleasurable pressure.  With greater strength than one would expect from a lady who works at a desk, Josephine snatched Cassandra’s hand away and pinned both of her hands down. 

“No.  We’re doing this my way.”

Cassandra whimpered, but had no other option but to nod in agreement.  Surrendering herself, she relaxed within Josephine’s iron grip.  Satisfied, Josephine wedged herself back in between Cassandra’s powerful legs. 

“ _Oh, Maker’s breath!  Oh!_ ”  It was even better the second time around.  She felt like waves on the shore, pushing forward then falling backward again. 

“Yes, that’s it.”  Josephine coaxed Cassandra to sit upright and placed a hand in the small of her back and the other between the shoulder blades.  “Put your hands like mine.”

It was awkward at first, but with some small adjustments in their legs, they were comfortably set.  Josephine finally graced Cassandra with a kiss.  Cassandra breathed it in, holding back her desperate need to consume.  This is what she had wanted, coming through the gates, during her bath, every night that she had slept cold and lone in her freezing tent.  This was the searing passion she wanted.  Her greedy hands pulled and pressed their bodies while their tongues dipped and caressed.  The battle weary warrior was finally home.

Josephine increased the rocking and Cassandra felt her orgasm beginning to breech.  Her kisses deepened and their teeth clacked.  The vibrate-pulse-vibrate rhythm of the new toy was incredible. She jerked her hips and Josephine responded in kind, the time for foreplay was done.  Cassandra pulled her head back to watch Josephine gasping for breath.  Open mouthed, heavy lidded gaze, sweat making strands of hair stick to her heavenly neck. She was magnificent. 

Pinching her eyes shut and letting out a few whines, Josephine spoke between panted breaths, “D-don’t forget…to…copy…”

Seeing Josephine unravel before her eyes and feeling her body quiver in her hands was pushing Cassandra to the brink.  “Yes, yes.  _Oh, please, take me!_ ”

Josephine screamed.  They had never had never been able to indulge in such lack of restraint before and Cassandra devoured it.  To her it was the song of a war cry, the declaration of the ultimate thrill.  “ _Yes!  Fuck me!_ ”

With those last words, she too was engulfed in her crushing orgasm as they grinded relentless together.  It pounded through her whole groin and pierced her lungs.  The vibrations kept the typically fleeting feeling from disappearing.  It lingered and then began to travel up her spine, following the motion of Josephine’s hands.  Quickly, Cassandra’s hands did the same, massaging up her lover’s spine, pulling the orgasm up through the body. 

She had never felt so drunk and utterly spent in her entire life.  Her mind couldn’t focus and her vision blurred.  The orgasm was fading, but it still clung to her insides.  Cassandra’s body fell lax into the cushioned floor, pulling Josephine with her.

Cassandra slid her hand down to have her fingers press against Josephine’s entrance.  She could feel the pulsing waves of her orgasm rippling through her vulva, it was Cassandra’s favorite part of their coupling, to know she could bring Josephine such ecstasy.  Cassandra only now noticed the blazing heat from their skin.  She watched the rise and fall of Josephine’s chest as she caressed Cassandra’s face, her fingers outlining the long scar on her cheek.  Josephine swept her hand down the neck, over a shoulder then swirled it back to Cassandra’s heart.  She held it there and give a small nudge.

“Cara mia, how I have missed you.”  The Antivan began a new round of full, wet kisses and trailed them down Cassandra’s neck, her lipstick marking the creamy flesh.

Cassandra moaned and arched her neck into the peppering of attention.  “ _Ungh_.  If I have to see any more red lyrium I may rip my hair out.  Blessed Andraste, I have missed your company.  This is the most elaborate ‘welcome home’ you have ever come up with.”

Josephine pulled back and started to untangle herself, removing the sash which Cassandra deactivated.  “I must admit I was rather hesitant when Praxis offered her help.”

Chuckling, Cassandra tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind Josephine’s ear.  “She certainly has interesting ideas.”  It was of course her suggestion that Dagna craft Templar runes.  “And absolutely no shame.”

With an amused laugh that bubbled in her throat, Josephine wrapped her arm around her warrior.  Cassandra pulled her closer so her head rested in the shoulder joint, which was padded thickly by her muscles.  She reveled in how Josephine’s ripe breasted pressed against her body, loving the way her delicate frame molded to hers. 

Cassandra combed through Josephine’s fine hair, her nails scraping softly at her scalp.  “Are you tired sweet flower?” 

“Not if you aren’t.”  With blazing speed Josephine leapt up to straddle Cassandra’s hips.  She filled her hands with Cassandra’s breasts and licked and sucked on them hungrily.   Cassandra's gasp turned into a hearty moan.  Josephine laughed wickedly.  When she paused to take a breath, Josephine gazed into the warrior’s love glazed eyes.  “Ready for round two?”

“My precious minx, what would I do without you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem that Cassandra recites is Graham R. Bryan’s Beautiful Lady
> 
> Up Next: Bull talks to Krem and discovers one of Praxis' dark fantasies. As he becomes more determined to make it come true, he finds it difficult to get the +1 she desires.


	21. Happy Birthday:Part 1 (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some training for Kitty and some sexy times for The Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised a threesome, but it got too long so here's part 1. More NSFW in the next chapter.

Bull woke up and reached out.  The other side of the bed was cold and empty.  He clutched the linens as he sighed dejectedly.  “Fuck.”

It’s the fourteenth night it’s happened since they returned to Skyhold weeks ago.    Sliding out of bed, he walked to the opposite corner of the room, farthest from the door.  Praxis had emptied and moved the trunk there the first day back from Orzammar.  Cracking the lid, he confirmed that she was tucked in there tight, sleeping.  She’d spent over a month with the Qunari Ben-hassrath interrogators, he understood better than anyone her instinctive animal need to hide, to feel safe.  After her first night she spent in box, he ripped off the locks to ensure she was only ever in there of her own will. 

Her memory lapses at night were more frequent.  There were fewer times that she couldn’t remember who he was or where she was.  The more common theme was forgetting she was missing two feet.  She’d argue with him about why there wasn’t an order in for new boots or she’d fall out of bed trying to step on the foot that was no longer there.  The more uncomfortable nights were when she asked about her brother.  Bull never had a good answer for that one.

During the day she worked as if nothing had happened.  She kept some of the infrastructure that had been set up in her absence since her mobility was hindered.  Still relying on one crutch, she hadn’t been able to run with Dalish in the mornings like she used to.  Her note taking was impeccable and the mnemonic devices she developed helped to channel some of her pent up energy.  Anything dealing with weapons she’d rub her wrist, or any of Cullen’s requests she tapped her neck, small gestures but all of them had meaning for her. 

She was tough, he had to give her that, but like anyone, she had a breaking point.  What would she do when Corypheus was defeated?  Travel with the Chargers?  No, it’d be too boring.  Maybe take on a job with Josephine in Antiva.  He thought briefly whether mercenary work in Antiva was worth pissing of the Crows.  That would be a pain in the ass.  Setting those thoughts aside, Bull took hold of her hand to place a gentle kiss on her wrist before shutting her back in the trunk before he left to take care of his own duties for the day. 

 

Since Frederick arrived, Praxis spent the afternoons with him to train Kitty.  This was where Bull found her that evening.  The pair were a few leagues out form Skyhold and were working on getting Kitty to recognize Inquisition uniforms.  They experimented with appearance, smell, and race of the soldier to see which was easiest for the dragon to understand. 

“She’s smart, there’s no doubt on that, but we’re not getting consistent enough results that I would feel comfortable seeing her in battle with our soldiers.”  Praxis scratched the beast’s soft underjaw. 

The dragon was growing quickly, her head already larger than Praxis.

“Agreed.  I’m uncertain how to proceed from here.  Unfortunately, I’m out of ideas on this front.”  Frederick was dismayed.

The tall scholar was always primly dressed which seemed odd for one who worked with a dragon daily.  He spoke in a very refined manner as any Orlesian but her was more respectful than any of the pompous ass pricks slithering about Skyhold.  He was open minded which had he and Praxis becoming thick as thieves.  He noticed a remarkable difference in the way they worked compared to the Sappers that had constantly challenged Praxis.

Praxis lifted her head when she heard Bull approach, a warm smile greeted him.  She was genuinely happy to see him, a welcome change from the instinctive hesitation following her capture.  It had taken many patient weeks to reach this point, but it was worth it.  Even when she was comfortable having sex again, he refrained from any bondage.  It was as dull as an arranged marriage consummation with the priest watching, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of tying her up, not until she was ready again, if ever. 

In a gesture of dismissal, Praxis tossed a pig leg off to the side for Kitty to chase after.  “Perhaps we should have her participate in some training with the Mabari handlers.  She’s proven to be competitive when racing Bull in the past, perhaps we could use that competitiveness to our advantage by pitting her against the war hounds.”

Frederick gave a snooty laugh.  Snobbish must be the only way Orlesians knew how to do anything.  “I wish you luck in convincing them to allow their precious hounds anywhere near Kitty.  Everyone is still waiting for her to go on a rampage.”

Praxis walked up to Bull without the aid of her crutch, triumph in the crinkle of her eyes.  She seemed almost girlish.  Her gait had changed significantly from when he first met her.  The dwarven appendages were heavier than what she used to have and her right leg was still tender and unaccustomed to carrying weight.  The way she lifted from the knees to step reminded him of marionettes with strings anchored to the joints. 

She patted her thigh, one of mnemonic reminders or the kennel master.  “He…he owes Barker for the longer runs for the dogs and she owes Cassandra so…yeah, I think I can work it.” 

When she slipped her arm through Bull’s, he instantly felt her weight pull on him.  She was tired from having pushed herself too far.  Again.

“Are you all done here Kadan?”  When she nodded, he swept her up and tossed her over his shoulder.  “Good.”

Praxis didn’t argue with him and gave Frederick her farewells as she dangled from Bull’s shoulder.  Bull took her through a side entrance to reach their quarters knowing she’d appreciate the less public display of her moment of weakness.

She groaned when he laid her down on the bed and offered no resistance as he pulled her light armor off.  “You need to quit doing this Kadan.  You make me feel like a mother hen, nagging after you.  It’s fucking annoying.”

“I can think of worse things than having a gorgeous, shredded man carrying me around.”  She lazily reached both arms out to latch onto his shoulders and tugged to have him lay on top of her on the bed.  At first he supported his weight on his forearms to keep form having his weight trap her beneath him, but she continued to pull until their chests were pressed together.  He casually wrapped his fingers around her neck to keep a watch on her pulse.  It was racing. 

She took deep, steading breaths as she stared into his eye until she was able to calm her heartbeat.  “I want to trust you again.  I hate what I’m doing to us.”

The conversation that never happened.  He knew she feared him because he looked like her captors and he’d been more than willing to give her space to deal with it on her own, until now.  If she wanted to face this now, then he wasn’t going to hold anything back.  “What’s your watchword?”

“Katoh.  Just your hands this time please.” 

Bull felt better knowing that she’d thought about this before now, had considered what she would be comfortable with.  Bull went to the wardrobe where he’d stored the salvaged and new gear that he’d acquired after the attack, hoping this day would come.  He pushed aside the soft lengths of scarves and retrieved a generous amount of rope.  When he turned around, he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. 

He fingered and stroked the braided cord as he approached her.  “I know this is something they used.”  Making a loop, he slipped it over her neck and cinched it loosely.  “I know how they would have tied you.”

“Please do it.”  She leaned backward to have the rope tighten further.  She smiled as she took pleasure in the familiar feeling of being bound for sex.  “Cowboy up!  It’s time to go big or go home.”

Bull set to work, linking and knotting, weaving her body into the shape he desired.  Her arms were immobile behind her, her hands secured against her forearms, her elbows attached to the noose like collar on her neck.  When he began to include her legs, she head-butted him.  “Smile ya big ass or I might think I’m the one torturing you.”

With no warning he flipped her from her seated position to flop on the bed face down.  With an open palm he rapidly smacked her ass five times, hard.  She muffled her scream by biting the bedding.  She gasped for air when he stopped, “ _Yes!_ Pull my hair.”

He did, tilting her head to she had to face him.  He bent lower to have their noses touch.  “Is this what you want?  You _want_ me to punish your sass?”

She kicked him as best she could while bound, which Bull hardly felt, but pain wasn’t the point.  Her attitude, her fighting spirit and finding the courage to face her fear, that was the point.  “I’d like to see you try, pussy.”

Bull wanted to laugh as well, but managed to keep up his stern demeanor.  He dragged her to the edge of the bed, letting her legs dangle until he tied them to the posts ensuring they stayed spread wide.  Kneeling, he opened her ass cheeks wide and low to reach her velvet folds.  Of all the strange things from her culture she chose to keep, at least the full body grooming was one that he could readily appreciate. 

The tip of his tongue traced her shape twice then he bit hard into her thigh, relishing in the pained shriek that was ripped from her throat.  Her pale skin reddened instantly with a purple ring of teeth marks.  He reached up and pulled on her arms which also tugged on her neck, pulling her face off the bed. 

“I think I will _try_ some pussy.”  He cupped her sex and held her bonds tight.  She writhed against him.  His fingers moved in slow circles with faint pressure.  It was teasing to be sure, only enough to warm her up.  Bull kept his eye on her hands, waiting for them to twist out of the bonds.  Her wails got louder and she cussed him, using insults and names that held no meaning for him.  The knots he used were simple, he even saw her finger them, but she didn’t try, not once. 

Praxis fell limp in his grip, “Sir?”

Bull hummed with delight, he pulled on the rope to add a bit more pressure, making her suck in a breath.  “Yes?”

“How may I please you?”  Her voice was low and her tone resigned.  He could feel that her body wasn’t simply limp, it was fully relaxed. 

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you.”  He didn’t need her to answer.  She had no choice, it was either do or not be fucked.

He released her arms and crouched behind her to press his face into her heat.  He used every inch of his face to bring her pleasure, his chin, lips, teeth, tongue – anything that kept her guessing.  Her lustful mewls and whimpers were melodic to him, it’d been so long.  She even seemed to taste different.  Recently, he’d held back before, never pushing her.  Now he was in control, testing her boundaries. 

Hungry laps were broken by ravenous bites in her plump ass.  He destroyed her bottom.  What little space wasn’t marked by his mouth, he attacked with his hands, either by full slaps or clawing at the skin.  Long streaks formed under his fingernails as he began at her hips to scrape down her thighs to her knees. 

Praxis’ breathing was getting heavier.  Bull snorted a growl as he gave his command.  “Cum for me.  I want to feel you cuming on my face.” 

He went full out, tracing the patterns she loved with his tongue and pulling on her bonds to make her wail.  Bull had experienced many epic victories in battle but nothing compared to the satisfaction of victory in bed.  That was the type of destruction he encouraged with enthusiasm.  Perhaps it was part of his Ben-hassrath training that made him obsessive about manipulating the body.  Regardless, seeing Praxis packaged and pinned to his bed like a collector’s specimen stirred his lust hot and low in his belly.  He was proud to see her sweaty, breathless and weak. 

He pulled loose the straps on her legs, jerked her arms free, and eased her on her back.  Removing his breeches, he delicately placed his sac on top of her still hot and throbbing pussy and began to stroke himself over her. 

When he looked down at her face, he saw the glisten of tears on her cheeks.  “Was it too much?”

“No, it was fun, just real fucking painful.  Damn.  I think I’m out of shape.” She wiped her face dry then giggled as she wrapped her legs around his thighs to pull him closer.  “I am going to be reminded of tonight all day tomorrow!”

Her laughter petered off when Bulls purposeful strokes caught her eye.  He squeezed his cock harder to have his tip bulge fat, turning a darker purple.  The way she bit her lip added an urgency that pulsed in his balls. 

“The Bull, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?  I’m masturbating.”  He thrust into his fist, smiling at how he jostled Praxis to make her tits bounce. 

Suddenly, Praxis’ expression flattened and she looked up at him with wide eyes.  “You’re jerking off…to me?  From looking at me?” 

“Oh, fuck yeah.  You tame dragons like a goddess, you fought your way out of a Ben-hassrath stronghold.  Fucking run half the Inquisition…”  A throaty groan saw him fall forward, catching himself with his free arm.  Hovering over her, his pace increased.  He wanted to paint her breasts, he wanted to cream all over her face.  “ _Nngh, yes, yes.  Fucking shit_.  I want you to taste what you do to me.”

She arched her back and stretched her arms over her head, “ _Yeees_ , please sir.  Make me take it, make me your dirty girl.”

Bull leapt up on her, straddling her chest, his cock inches from her raised head.  Her hands dug into his ass and pulled him closer.  She held her smile broad and eager.  Small whimpers begged for his cum.  “So filthy.  I want to be filthy for you.”

“So beautiful…”   Thick globs of his spend were jettisoned all over her face and breasts.  She let her head fall back on the bed and rubbed his seed all over her skin.    

Bull backed off and handed her the first thing he could find.  She cleaned up while he got a jar of elfroot balm, making a mental note to get more from Stitches.  He twirled his finger to instruct Praxis to turn her backside up.  Time had not been kind to her ass.  All of his marks were brighter in color, the lines from his fingernails had puckered her skin.  Stitches made some great shit, but there was no way this would be healed over tonight.  She was going to feel this for days.

“It’s unfortunate that you can’t take healing magic.”  Bull lathered up his hands and set to work easing her raw flesh.

She shrugged, “It’s no great loss for me.  I’ve never been able to use it, so I don’t know any different.”

“How are you feeling?”  His tone was poignant.  There was no mistaking what he meant.

“A little odd, but better.”  She hesitated but pressed on once she was comfortable.  “There were times I wanted to hurt you.  I wanted to yell and kick, just be fucking vindictive.”

It was no surprise to Bull that she had those feelings, shit, look at him.  What did surprise him was she didn’t act on it.  “Why didn’t you?  You know I’d understand, c’mon.  I fucked up a nightmare demon.  You’re amazing Kadan, but you have to know I’m tough enough to take what you’ve got.”

“No.  I can’t do that.  Not to you.”

“I am whatever you need me to be, a punching bag, an outlet, anything.” 

She looked over her shoulder, her expression was difficult to read, a mix of sadness and confusion, he couldn’t be sure.  “I never want to view you as them, because you’re not.  My Innamorato, you are so much better, far greater than you can imagine.  I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to be the person that would make me, or insult you by pretending you are less than you are.”

Bull slapped her hard on the ass, intentionally irritating a particularly tender spot.  He felt no remorse since she was already prodding one of his tender spots with her words.  He didn’t like it.  “Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t start talking like the kid.  I’ve only just started to tolerate his creepy shit.”

Praxis seethed in pain.  “Alright hot stuff, no need to be a bigger dick than you already have.”  Her leg nudged at his crotch for emphasis.  “Oh.  I almost forgot.  I’m taking tomorrow off.  I’ve already worked out the details with Cullen and Frederick.”

“So getting ripped apart by Qunari doesn’t warrant taking time off from work, but something else does?” 

“My birthday, give or take a few days, I may have lost track.”

“Seriously?  Your nameday?  Honestly, some of the weird shit that comes out of your mouth…”

“No worse than what you put in it.”  She patted the empty space next to her for Bull would join her on the bed.  Bracing her head on a hand, she rested on her side to face him.  “It’ll be my first birthday without the twins stealing all the attention.”

“Twins?”  The comment that Stitches made resurfaced in Bull’s mind.  Then he remembered the two children from the pictures on her black totem.  Similar features, similar age even a bit of a resemblance to her.  “Kadan, did you leave children behind?”

“Me?”  She laughed uproariously to the point she had to clutch at her stomach.  “Oh, god no.  Not me.  They’re my brother’s kids, but it just so happens that they were born on _my_ birthday which means they stole it.”

Bull chuckled at the absurdity but soon realized she was as a serious as a blight.  She was truly upset by the fact those kids ‘stole’ her nameday.  He laughed harder.  “Alright Kadan, if you want I’ll barricade the door for you.”

Praxis curled up against his chest and stroked the stubble on his jaw as she hummed with pleasure.  “If anyone came by, would you beat them up for me?  Let me watch?”

“Sure, if you can stand to **fucking do as I say in bed!** ”  At the last part he spanked her with each word, Praxis howled with mixtures of pain and laughter. 

A little over two months to reach this point.  She was readjusting quicker than he thought.

 

The next morning Bull left Praxis snoozing in bed, promising to return with breakfast.  He spoke with one of the kitchen chefs who gladly conceded to his request once she was permitted to feel his flexed arms.  He also promised when he was tired of his current lady love, that he’d give her first go. 

He huffed at the idea, more likely Praxis would tire of him.  Dismissing it with a mental shrug, he went to burn some time with the Inquisitor.  In the great hall most of the Inquisitor’s inner circle were taking breakfast.  Since the long, grueling trip from the Emprise, Mahanon had scheduled a longer break at Skyhold which everyone appreciated. 

Bull flashed a knowing smile at Cassandra.  “Good morning Seeker.”

He pretended to ignore her blush, but he was glad to have confirmation that she’d had a pleasant time with Josephine.  Bull wedged a chair next to the Inquisitor, pushing Dorian to the side.  The mage was miffed, but he didn’t have what Bull needed.  Both Dorian and Cullen were close to Praxis, but it was Mahanon who she confided in when it came to more intimate matters.  It was he that she spoke to about Bull.

Not surprising, Mahanon asked after Praxis in light of her absence. 

“She’s taking the day off for her birthday.”  Cullen answered, devoting most of attention to a stack of notes as he absentmindedly finished his meal.  He didn’t even realize the question had been asked of Bull.

The Inquisitor piped in with curiosity.  “Birthday?  Is that the same as a nameday?” 

Cullen set his papers to the side in order to give a complete answer.  “Er, not quite.  Her culture doesn’t wait weeks after a child is born to give them a name.”

Now it was Cassandra’s interest that was piqued.  “But what if the child should succumb to any number of infant illnesses?”

“In her homeland, they typically don’t.  That is the marvelous thing – in substitution of magic, they have the most intense understanding of how the human body works to the degree that it baffles the mind.”  Dorian waved his hands as if to add magic to the telling.  “My understanding is that all births are expected to see the child grow into adulthood.  Children or mothers dying during childbirth is uncommon.” 

Bull noticed that Cullen kept his head down, full attention on the food he wasn’t eating.  If Cullen wouldn’t talk about it, then maybe Dorian would.  Praxis certainly wasn’t volunteering anything.  “Stitches mentioned a while back that Praxis had given birth.  You know anything about that?”

Aghast, Cassandra looked to Dorian. 

“Well, technically, they’re not hers.”

The Commander set his silverware down and rose from the table to take his leave.  “I’m going to give fair warning – you don’t want to know.”  He pointed to Dorian, “I told you I didn’t want to know and you told me anyway.  I still hate you.  Her people do extremely weird things and this is one of them.”  Cullen looked about the whole table.  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

After Cullen departed the great hall, his warning only caused those remaining to move in closer.  Varric brazenly pulled out a quill and scratch paper.  “Alright Sparkler, explain how by Andraste’s flaming knickers she can have kids and they not be hers?”

“They’re actually her brother’s.”  Dorian laughed hysterically at the table’s shocked and disgusted reactions.  He tapped his hand on the table as they calmed down, calling for quiet.  “Considering how her society views their corporeal form – Praxis being a prime example, she’s pieced together from at least three different people – it should be unsurprising that there are warehouses that take donations for reproductive purposes.  It was at one of these locations that her brother and his husband purchased a woman’s eggs that they fertilized in a lab.  Think of it as similar to the work area of an alchemist.  Praxis merely offered herself as the ‘nest’ to their baby birds.  For all intents and purposes, they are entirely the product of her brother and his spouse.  Ingenious process, I can’t imagine how many back in Tevinter would sell their seat in the Magisterium to have such capability.  Here I thought I was the only product of carefully selected breeding.  Her people take it to an entirely new level.”

There was long drawn out silence at the table, which Varric broke as he pushed his writing materials away.  “That is the most fucked up thing I have ever heard in my entire life.  This is a common thing?  Entire store houses full of…women…stuff?”

“Oh yes, and men’s _stuff_ too, as you so eloquently put it.  There are women who hire themselves out to do as Praxis did.  It’s called surrogacy.  It is absolutely fascinating process, which she can cover in even greater detail if you are curious.”

Dorian knew he was pushing the limits of proper conversation, even for Bull’s liberal stomach, and he was loving every second of it. 

“Shut up.”  Bull kicked at his chair, nearly knocking him over.  “Boss, I hope you listen to Cullen more than this sparkling pile of shit.”

“I’m not the one who’s going to be in shit, unless of course, you’ve done something wonderfully elaborate for Praxis’ birthday?  Come now, how does one spoil a dragon tamer?”

Strangely, Bull felt defensive at the insinuation that he hadn’t done anything.  “She said she wanted cake, so I’m getting cake.” 

“ _Pft_!  That’s all?  The poor woman hasn’t been able to celebrate her birthday for seven years and this is what you come up with?”

Bull turned a threating glare on Dorian, which he ignored.  “Alright, _expert_ , what do they do to celebrate these _birthdays_?”

“Cake is the standard, but there is also a sense of entitlement assumed on the day.  Typically, individuals spend it in a day of self-indulgence.  Anything that their heart desires, they’ll luxuriate in with gusto.”  Dorian lowered his voice and leaned against Bull’s arm.  “If I were you, I’d lock her up and keep her pleasured all day long.  Ensuring his legs crumpled beneath his weight, his throat sore from screaming in ecstasy.  Lavishing him with praise and worshiping his body…”

Bull shrugged Dorian off who’d locked eyes with Mahanon during his blathering.  “Easy there, big guy.  I wasn’t asking what you two were doing tonight.”

“He’s not that far off.”  Mahanon fingered his braid in thoughtfulness for a moment, then chuckled.  “Actually, if you’d like to make one of her fantasies come true, I may have an idea.  C’mon, let’s go find Krem.”

“Krem?”  Bull rose with the Boss.

“Yes, he has something you’ll need.”

They found the lieutenant in the tavern sorting through paperwork that Bull passed off on him while he devoted attention to Praxis’ healing.  Mahanon took a seat next to him and started the dialogue.

Krem listened as he drank from his tankard, then gave a shake of his head.  “Damn, she does tell you everything doesn’t she?”

“You knew about this too?”  Bull felt a sting of jealousy.

“Of course, it’s how I knew to make the clothes, but I’ll be honest with you Chief, even I couldn’t bind you tight enough for them to fit you.” 

Mahanon waved his hand dismissively, a wicked grin gracing his lips.  “He’s not going to be the one to wear it.”

There was one major detail to figure out, but fortunately Cullen helped on that front.  Bull left the rest of the details with Mahanon since he was due back at his quarters for part one of Praxis’ birthday celebration. 

~~~~~~~

The blindfold was soft and yet heavy – velvet, she imagined, though she couldn’t be certain. He’d slipped it over her eyes so quickly. Praxis lay on Bull’s bed, bound by her wrists and listening eagerly to the exchange that was taking place at the door. She could hear the tal-vashoth speaking, his voice a low rumble, and yet she couldn’t make out his words.

After a moment, she heard the door snap gently shut and the heavy, deliberate gait of Bull as he stalked over to the bed. There was a touch as light as air at the back of her head and then the blindfold fell away, fluttering down to land on her chest. Velvet; she’d been right.

“Please don’t tell me whoever was at the door just got an eyeful,” she muttered as she stretched her neck and raised her eyes to look at Bull. He had a tray balanced on one hand, a tray laden with an assortment of the most magnificent looking cakes she’d seen thus far in Thedas. Her mouth watered a little at the sight. How _long_  had they been in here?

“Relax, I only opened it a crack,” Bull chuckled, leaning back against the door.

He selected a long, cream filled bun from the platter, inspecting it with a critical eye before bringing it to his lips. A pointed tongue darted out and Bull met her gaze as he licked the filling from the middle. His grin was wicked, his noise of pleasure husky and deliberate. Praxis bit the inside of her lip. It was such an obvious ploy but fuck if it wasn’t effective! She had to squeeze her bare thighs together against the arousal that stirred in her belly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Bull, not sounding sorry at all. “Did you want some?”

He made a show of devouring the morsel, groaning as he sucked every last smut of cream from his fingers. When he’d finished, he tilted the tray slightly towards Praxis in offering. The redhead nodded and he approach the bed, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth.

“Damn, this one looks interesting,” he murmured, as he picked up a delicate, pink cake with piped ruffles. “This shit’s new, you know. Never had decent food like this back at Haven.” He lifted up to his face, breathing deep whatever sweet aroma it held. “Mmm, smells like almonds. Want a taste?”

“Yes, sir,” Praxis breathed. Bull grinned, took the tiny cake and smeared it deliberately all down his bare chest.

“Ah, shit,” he sighed, in mock remorse. “Damn warrior’s hands –  _so clumsy_!” His eyes flickered over to Praxis and he tilted his head. “Think you can clean it up for me?”

He didn’t wait for a response – it wasn’t really a question. Instead he set the tray down on a nearby table. Then he leaned over the bed and Praxis felt the soft cord binding her wrists loosen and fall away. She instantly brought her arms forward, rolling the ache out of her shoulders, but did nothing more.

“Good girl,” Bull praised. “You’re learning how I like to do this.”

The qunari pilfered the pillow that, moments before, had been behind her head. He tossed it down at the foot of the bed and arranged himself so he was half propped up, smirking down his body at her. A single, grey finger beckoned and Praxis reacted at once, crawling up the mattress and settling herself between Bull’s thick thighs. He’d put his pants back on sometime between blindfolding her and opening the door, to her slight disappointment, but she supposed he was deft enough at getting out of them.

Without waiting for him to prompt her, she lowered her head to his chest and licked a line through the smudge of crumbs and frosting. The cake was exquisite – almond and rosewater, if she wasn’t mistaken – but it tasted all the better for being on Bull. The sweetness mingled with the slight saltiness of his skin. Praxis raised her eyes to meet his gaze and proceeded to lick him clean. To her amusement, Bull managed to keep the contact as she lapped from his navel up to his pecs. It was only when her tongue flickered over his nipple that his eyelid fluttered. A deep rumble reverberated through his chest. His cock twitched beneath her and the redhead uttered a triumphant laugh.

“So much for your discipline,” Bull grumbled and he gave her a reprimanding swat across her backside. It hadn’t been hard but it still stung. Praxis responded by closing her lips around his nipple and sucking the sticky, sweet mess clean.

Bull was blatantly hard by the time she’d finished. Praxis sat back on her haunches, smiling sweetly and making a point of licking the sugary residue from her lips. The Iron Bull growled.

“You like that?” he asked, and, shit, his voice had taken on that gravelly tone that signalled something good was about to happen.

“I did, Sir,” Praxis nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Damn right you did,” the qunari smirked. “I’d be willing to offer you more but… you’re gonna have to earn it.”

His one dark eye lowered meaningfully to the tent in his breeches. Praxis bit back a grin.

“As you wish…Sir,” she demurred and she reached for the laces on his trousers, plucking them open to reveal his erection.

To say Bull was a mouthful was something of an understatement. Hard, he was as long as her forearm and almost as thick. Praxis wrapped her fingers around him, squeezing gently and biting her lip at the noise he made. It never failed to amaze her how tiny her hands looked on his cock. He dwarfed even the most well-endowed human and, whilst she was a firm advocate that size wasn’t everything, when Bull was in control, it was certainly a boon.

Slowly, teasingly, the redhead began to work the base of his shaft. Her tongue, meanwhile, painted a wet line up the underside, base to tip, drawing an involuntary shudder from the man beneath her.

“That’s right,” groaned Bull. “Put that smart mouth to good use.”

Praxis smirked and her lips closed over the damp head of his length. She took a deep breath through her nose then drew as much of him as she could take into her mouth. Bull hissed. His horns smacked against the bedposts as he threw his head back, though he barely seemed to notice. His hips twitched but thankfully he had the discipline not to buck up. Praxis swirled her tongue around him, up and down his shaft, flickering over the sensitive head. Her hands, meanwhile, fisted the inches her mouth couldn’t take, stroking in tandem.

She took it slow at first, her pace almost torturous. Only when Bull began to writhe impatiently did she pick up the pace. Her cheeks hollowed and she took Bull’s cock right to the back of her throat, letting the muscles there ripple around his tip.  An utterly bestial grunt rose from Bull’s chest. It was a savage sound and it made her own sex clench with need. He could easily throw her down and take what he wanted, if he were so inclined. And yet he didn’t, content to lie there and huff with pleasure as she took him apart. The power – even in submission – was dizzying. Praxis sucked him off greedily, enthusiastically and, when he eventually came with a snarl, she swallowed down every last drop of his release with genuine relish, holding his smoldering gaze.

“Ah, fuck,” hummed Bull, as she pulled away with a flourish, licking a stray drop from the corner of her mouth.

Praxis said nothing, sitting back between his parted thighs and waiting obediently. It took a moment before he saw fit to move but when he did, he was grinning, the expression wide and wolfish.

“Shit,” he chuckled, and he ran a hand down his grizzled face. “You’re pretty damn good at that.”

“Thank you, sir,” the redhead purred. “I’m glad I could please you.”

Bull snorted in amusement, though it quickly turned to a groan as he forced himself to sit up.

“Hmm, next time maybe we’ll use the wider end of the bed,” he grumbled, and he retrieved the platter of cakes he’d set down earlier. “A promise is promise,” he smiled, with what passed for a wink. “Lie down. I think you’ve earned this.”

Surprised, Praxis obeyed, lying down on the soft mattress. Bull inched up the bed to her side and held out something dark and gooey and incredibly chocolatey.

“Here,” he murmured. “Be a good girl and open up.”

He held the cake an inch from her lips and, when Praxis parted them, he allowed her to take a bite. It was decadently rich and she moaned in delight. Bull fed her bit by bit, his gaze unusually warm and an indulgent smile lighting up his face. He was deliberately clumsy, smearing the thick, gooey frosting over and around her lips. When the tiny morsel had been devoured, he pressed her down onto the bed, humming with delight as he licked her clean. Praxis laughed.

“Mmm, that one’s good,” the warrior grinned. “Especially on you.” He craned his neck and glanced black over at the tray. “And there’s one more!” His smile turned sly and he tilted his head inquisitively. “I think it’s your turn to get sticky, Happy Birthday Kadan.” he growled and his hand closed around the rope once more as he loomed over her, prepared to take his turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The magnificent food kink is the work of the amazing [dreadwolftakeme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwolftakeme/pseuds/dreadwolftakeme) She is an amazing author and I highly recommend her other works!!!


	22. Worst Submissive Ever (NSFW) (Art)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Praxis is having the best birthday, until Bull arrives with the best present ever - a third wheel to their sexcapades!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing commission done by [syberfab](http://syberfab.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Trigger Warning: Anon sex, bondage, asphyxiation, light sub/dom  
> 

When Praxis woke hours later she still felt hazy from their romp earlier.  She was alone in the room, but for once, it didn’t bother her as much.  The silence was unnerving, but she knew The Bull would be back.  He would be always come back.  Sitting on her knees, she perched her head on her folded arms to look out the window next to the bed.  The mountains were stunning. 

_This is your new life._

It still felt strange to think of at times.  She was thankful she found a place to belong, people who cared for her, gave her an opportunity to work and have a purpose.  She was lucky, but a small bit of her still missed home.  She grinned inwardly.  Up until recently when her mind thought of family she’d see her brother, his spouse, and their kids.  Now, when the word floated through her mind, the first face she saw was The Bull.  He didn’t simply tolerate her madness, he understood it, held some of it himself.  They both had a dark history of death and duty.  Suffering. 

Perhaps that was what made the sex all the more incredible.  They connected on something more than just the physical.  ‘Love’ seemed too romanticized and ‘companion’ was too detached.  She lay back on the bed and curled the woolen blanket around her.  It still smelled of his musk and sex and sugar.  She rolled it tighter around her body.  Whatever they were, it was undoubtedly at least an ‘us’.

The opening of the door startled her from a light sleep.  She began to move for the dagger on the nightstand when Bull’s voice bounded through the room.  “Cover your eyes, I have a surprise for you.”

Like a child, she sat cross legged on the bed with her hands planted over her eyes.  She heard rustling and guessed that Bull was down to his bare skin, which was confirmed when he sat beside her.  The warmth of his body had become the ultimate comfort.  She craved it regardless of her mood. 

She snuggled close to him, “May I look now?”

When he pulled her hands down she choked on thin air.  Standing in the middle of the room was a man wearing an Orlesian mask, his hair hidden within a hood and a gag visible through the mouth slit.  He wore a collared, long sleeve white button down shirt was an exquisite replica of those from back home.  A tight black vest held a red pocket square that matched the thin blood red tie around his neck.  The knot was sloppy but not horrible considering it was reproduced from a verbal description.   The solid black pants had a crisp crease down the center of his legs and kinked perfectly at the ankle.  He wore no shoes. 

“Bull, I love you.  I really, really love you, but I’m certain that if he so much as breathes on me I’m going to cream myself.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Not a clue.”

“Good.”  Bull pulled her onto his lap, wedging one hand between her legs, then snaked the other around her torso to fondle her breasts.  “Cause I’m going to watch him fuck you.”  His hand rose from her chest to coil around her neck and squeezed possessively. 

They hadn’t talked about her being his ‘plaything’, something that he used at his whim.    A game that Krem wasn’t willing to play.  This was a pleasant surprise.  She seethed with anticipation.  “And he understands how this works?”

“Yes, Kadan.  Trust me, you’re going to do _very_ naughty things to him as well.”

 _Trust me._   He hadn’t meant it in that manner, but it was only in that moment that she knew that she did.  She trusted him with her life, her dignity, her pleasure – anything. 

Twisting her head up and back, she gave him a lopsided kiss, missing his lips.  “Inamorato, I will treasure this night beyond my dying day.”  Bull’s chest rumbled with a smug chuckle.  She knew his prick wasn’t the only thing that he enjoyed having stroked. 

“Let me fix one thing.”  She motioned for the nameless man to come close.  She removed the tie and looped it around her neck to correct the knot.

“Oh, c’mon.  As if there is that much difference, did you really need to kill the mood for that?”  He was only ribbing her because she found a minor fault with his gift.  She didn’t take it personally. 

Slipping the large loop over the stranger’s head, she held the knot when she tugged on the tail with ease to cinch the cord tight around his neck.  The man inhaled sharply and she giggled excitedly.  Bull squeezed her leg harder.  His mind probably filthier than hers and the gesture didn’t need much of an explanation. 

“That’s why it matters.”  She ran her hands over the man’s chest, his pecs impossibly perfect as he flexed them under her touch.  “Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s like he walked out of the pages of GQ.” 

Bull rose and pulled Praxis to one side, making space on the bed.  Without being prompted, the stranger gracefully pounced on the bed to lounge at the head.  His legs were spread wide and his arms draped over the sparse amount of pillows.  

Praxis began to lean forward toward him when Bull tugged at her hair.  His other hand palmed her ass and swept around to feel between her legs, making her shiver.  “You want to touch him Kadan?  You want to know what he tastes like?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then be a good girl and don’t move.”  Bull let go and released her wet sex.  He licked at his damp fingers before motioning GQ to sit up on his knees on the bed. 

Then the torturous tease began.  Bull’s fingers deftly unbuttoned the vest which he slowly pulled down the dead still man.  The white shirt beneath was opened carefully to expose a mouthwatering display of flesh while staying firmly on the man’s shoulders.  Bull gripped GQ’s soft sides then stroked up along the ribs, his thumbs bouncing over the rippling muscles. 

Praxis whimpered audibly.  _That should be me!_

Ignoring her, Bull raked his nails over GQ’s chest, barely hard enough to leave a mark, but enough that the man stiffened with a quick breath.  Wetting a thumb, Bull played with one nipple while he took the other in his mouth.  He made a show of using his tongue, lapping and flicking at the sensitive skin, spurred on by the way GQ squirmed. 

“Sir?  Please, I…”

“Aw, see?  Now I have to punish you again.  You need to learn that you are at my disposal.  Now, you’ll have to wait longer.” 

She wanted to scream but quickly thought the better of it, clapping her hands swiftly over her mouth to ensure nothing came out.  Bull laughed at her.  “There’s a good girl.”

The skilled grey fingers ghosted back down to find the laces of the makeshift dress pants.  Bull took his time to pluck the knot loose and delicately peeled the fabric open.  He pushed down on one side of the breeches, then the other, gradually making progress.  Praxis licked her lips, her eyes ready to burst from her head.  It was worse than porn, at least with that she could fast forward to the good parts.  This son-of-a-bitch was worse than having a slow internet speed.

Once the finely tailored clothing was crumpled around the man’s knees, Bull fully cupped GQ’s ass and with a devilish grin before consuming his partially engorged cock.  GQ’s reaction had Praxis giving voice to the cry of ecstasy that he couldn’t utter through the gag.  His head whipped back and he snagged hold of Bull’s horns, holding fast against his pelvis.

Praxis sat helpless and unsatisfied as she watched Bull pull away to reveal a rock hard erection that her body desperately wanted to have.  Mouth, pussy, ass, hand, she didn’t care.  She wanted it because she saw how much Bull was enjoying it.  Bull wrapped his mouth around it again, this time angling his face so she could see the tip press against the inside of his cheek before lodging in the back of his throat.  He did this over and over, each time adding to the sloppy mess that oozed down to drip off GQ’s heavy balls. 

Taking a break, Bull switched to pumping the drenched shaft as he spoke.  “Oh, Kadan.  You should taste how eager he is for this.” To make his point, he squeezed just hard enough that more precum drizzled out.  Bull caught it on the tip of his tongue, then gave the slit an appreciative kiss.  “He’s going to cum soon.  He needs it.  Where should he do it?”

“Wherever you command.”  She didn’t even hesitate. 

“You almost sound like you’ve learned your lesson, but I know you better.”  Bull reached into the side table to pull out a familiar vile.  He stood to toss it to Praxis.  “I think that I will take the first turn.”

She nearly sobbed with disappointment as Bull presented his backside to her.  “As it pleases you, sir.”

Slicking her hand, she massaged Bull’s crease.  Wedging her fingers in the familiar space, they easily found his puckered hole.  Pressing her finger in slowly, she discovered he was already quite relaxed and wondered if it were linked to one of his Qunari taught meditations.  Regardless, it wasn’t long before he was able to take two fingers completely.  The warrior bent forward a bit to brace his hands on the nightstand and edged his rear closer to the bed. 

“You’re not done yet.  Put him in me.”

Jealously raged hot in Praxis.  She wanted to light the oil on fire and punch him in the nuts a few times.  Instead, she took hold of GQ and guided him to Bull’s entrance.  Taking his cue from Bull, GQ slowly, achingly, made his way in, claiming the tal-vashoth.  Watching Bull spread to accept the sizable dick was breathtaking.  Taking hold of Bull’s hips, GQ slammed home the last inch as if locking them together.

Bull moaned deep in his throat.  Praxis was certain he was exaggerating for her benefit.  “ _Oh damn!_   Damn, Kadan.  You are missing out on some fine dick.”  He looked back and twirled his finger in the air.  “Do that again.” 

Bull’s body shook as GQ pulled back then slammed into him once more.  Bull’s cock was full and spilling over as it flopped wildly with each thrust.  The jizz made artful shapes in the air as it escaped his prick.

“I think a little reach around would be nice.”  Praxis moved to get off the bed but Bull shooed her back.  “No, no.  For him.”

 _Fine.  Fine!_   _He wants to get fucked?  I’ll make sure it’s the shortest three seconds he gets!_  

She crawled behind GQ and lay on the bed, propping herself to the right height on her elbows.  At least she was finally able to touch him.  Her mouth eagerly consumed part of his sac, slowing down his thrusts while her tongue probed around the delicate skin.  Moving upward, she nibbled on his perineum, sucking hard enough to leave a cherry colored mark. 

As if diving into a pond, she pried his buttocks nice and wide to spit on his center before pushing her face against him.  Hand firmly around his ass, she revealed in how his muscles clenched as he drove hard into Bull.  She lapped at him with abandon, breaths muffled against his sweaty skin.  She had expected him to taste more like Bull did after the practice ring, dusty and earthen.  Not this man.  He was GQ down to his smell and taste.  Lightly perfumed from a flowery soap, it was evident he was quite prepared for their romp.

Digging her fingers into his flesh, she pointed her tongue and let his rhythm send it delving into him.  Judging by the trembling of his thighs, he only had moments left.  She moved her hand to have a finger take her tongue’s place and swirled it deftly to find that magical ball of nerves that would end her torment. 

Right as his body was beginning to convulse, she snagged hold of the tie and pulled hard to have it tighten mercilessly around his neck.  She watched goosebumps coat his entire body as he came harder than he possibly had his entire life.  She watched closely to ensure she released the tie at the right time.  When he flopped unconscious onto the bed, his spend was left to seep from Bull.  Even with the tie loose, he needed to take deep breaths to compensate for the gag in his mouth.

Reaching around with great speed, Bull dragged Praxis to the edge of the bed.  “You wanted to taste him?  Taste him.”

“Yes, sir.”  Obeying the command, she pressed an open mouth over Bull's cum filled hole, licking at the new flavor until he was satisfied and stepped away.

Ever the attentive lover, Bull took it upon himself to see that GQ was cleaned up and ready when he recovered.  The damp washcloth ventured beyond the nexus of his legs to coast over his whole body.  Groggily, GQ woke up instantly palmed his dick, chasing the fading orgasm that had knocked him out. 

“You okay there?”  Bull touched GQ’s shoulder, careful not to say anything to give the man’s identity away.  He nodded and patted Bull’s arm in reassurance and held up one finger to let them know he only needed a moment.

Bull kept his gaze on her as she waited patiently.  “This could have been you.  Satisfied, lavished with attention.  You think you’ve learned your lesson, Spitfire?”

This session had been brutal for her, absolutely agonizing to watch them together.  She handed Bull the length of rope from earlier.  This time, he guided her arms above her head and crossed them behind her neck.  He secured them in place and continued the rope work to crisscross down around her torso.  Tight loops were made around each breast.  In moments she could feel her blood pulse in her nipples with every wisp of his breath that blew by.

Bull lifted her as if she weighed nothing.  Their bodies pressed together, noses touching.  It was difficult to believe the world would be so kind as to allow her such a man.  Bull strung her up like a carcass on a meat hook.  They’d used the anchored ropes before as a swing often enough they simply left them hanging from the ceiling.  The way he had it set up this time, she dangled from the connection at the small of her back.  The lengths of hemp and intricate knot work cinched snuggly against her skin.  Well, snuggly for her.  The faint pain stung pleasantly and held there, much more effective than a whipping.  Her whole body felt alive and oversensitive. 

Positioned for the next game, she did her best to lure Bull close, hopefully sporting the doe-like pitiful eyes she’d seen in movies.  Flexing his bulging muscles confidently, Bull cocked his head to the side, pleased with his handiwork and tipped her chin up with his finger and thumb. 

“My lovely little Spitfire, you ready to submit?”

Her mouth quirked up ever so slightly.  Yes, she knew what she had to do to be the perfect submissive.  To fulfill his needs as well as meet her own.  She waited until she saw the subtle change in his expression that indicated he knew something was ‘off’.  Before he could step back, she spat the saved cum in his face.  Startled, GQ sat upright on the bed suddenly, but relaxed when Bull joined her laughing with his own deep chuckle. 

“You fucking ass.”  Bull pinched one of her nipples, then rubbed it between his fingers.  Jolts of electricity shot through her at the rough contact. 

She squeaked, but managed to morph it into a fit of giggles.  “You’d be the expert on that.  I wouldn’t know.”

He spun her around easily midair and rubbed circles over her round, plump buttocks.  A hand on her shoulder, he held her still as his other hand circled threateningly on her still blemished skin from the other day.  Even the light touch hurt.

“That’s not how this works.”  He slapped her rump.  She gave a sad whimper when it wasn’t hard.  “Is this what you want?  To be constantly punished?”

“Maybe if you tried harder, I might remember how to obey.  You’re a very poor teacher.”  She waited for the expected slap, but he walked away instead.  Taking a deep breath, she bounced with excitement in her restraints as she watched him retrieve a riding crop. 

Bull circled around her, back to the bed.  He tapped GQ on the chest with the leather end of the crop.  Intuitively he got up from his resting spot.  Praxis felt as if the sex toy were laughing at her.  This was universally confirmed as he assumed a bent over position by leaning on the bed and even wiggled his ass for Bull’s strike.  Bull’s arm arced downward beautifully and left a perfectly pink welt on the man’s ass.  GQ rolled his head in gratitude as he took himself in hand.  He patted the bed to ask for more while he stuck his rear out further. 

She growled like a feral animal, her legs kicking ineffectually in the air.  “I hate you!  I hate both of you!! I will kill you so dead!”

“So menacing.”  Bull scoured the rumpled bedsheets to find the velvet sash from that morning.  “Perhaps we should save you from the sight of our fun.  You’re no longer invited.”

“Wait!  No, please!  Don’t!”  She might as well have been shouting at the walls.  The blindfold was secured over her eyes and for the first time, she felt regret.

The feeling didn’t last long as she strained her ears to identify the new sounds she heard.  Something light bounced to the floor, then a sound like a leather strap.  The thick wet sounds of mouths clashing spurred her imagination into full gear.  GQ was unmasked and breathing heavily against her lover.  The puckering and sucking of their lips together was unmistakable.  Her body ached and no amount of squeezing her thighs together would help to alleviate the need.

Then the sucking changed, it had a rhythm to it now.  Gritting her teeth, she hung powerless as she was forced to listen to the two of them blow each other.  Or was it just one of them?  Regardless, the heartless bastards made more exaggerated noises than a bored hooker. 

There was quiet. 

A hand clasped hers.  Soft lips were pressed to her wrist.  A kiss on the shoulder then a long lick up her neck to nibble at her earlobe.  GQ sighed lightly in her ear.  Chills raced down her spine.  Hands cupped her breasts.  Thumbs tapped the tip of her nipples then rolled them in delicious circles.  She tried to arch her chest into him, hoping his mouth would follow, instead she was distracted by another set of oil slick fingers behind her.  A familiar object was wedged against her ass, the conical shape burned into her memory.  With great care, the plug was firmly secured in her ass and as if he received a signal, GQ abandoned her tits in favor of kissing a trail down to her folds. 

She’d been taunted all night and the evidence of her neglect was dripping down her legs.  The stranger started at her inner thighs, cleaning up the mess she’d created, following it up until he nestled his face against her heated core.  He took her gently in his mouth.  The way his tongue undulated against her was glorious and she made a mental note to never let Bull know how much better this was. 

Squirming in her bonds she mewled and only found some relief when she was able to drape her legs over the man’s shoulders.  Taking on some of her weight, the ropes didn’t feel as tight and she could focus more attention on what he was doing to her.  She wanted Bull to push and pull the plug in an out of her, or even better, dig out the set of beads from the box.  The added pressure was exhilarating but she was spoiled and her body demanded more. 

She thought about making the request until large firm hands grabbed her by the thighs and rose her higher in a seated position.  GQ stood to have his hips fill the gap between her legs.  When she felt his arousal brush against her, she thought she’d come undone.  She felt as though she were dying when he slammed up into her and Bull chuckled against her neck. 

“There you go.  Take him _all_ in.”  Her body bobbed upward each time GQ bottomed out.  She dipped her head forward, searching for his mouth and once finding it, consumed it as best she could in the midst of his steady pace.

“Mmmm, yes.  Does he taste like me Kadan?” 

Oh yes he did and better than he did a moment ago now that she knew he’d been sucking on her lover earlier.  She wondered if he finished…

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, force his face closer for a better taste, but he kept pulling away, keeping enough distance that she couldn’t discern much of his features.  It didn’t matter to her, she never wanted to know who he was.  At his continued resistance, she tried to twist back and have some of Bull.  She was satisfied with catching only the corner of his mouth until she felt a new pressure and froze suddenly.

Even GQ had stopped fucking her for the moment.  Bull was going slow, easing his bulbous prick up into the tight space that was already occupied.  She felt herself stretching, then it was as if she were being ripped apart.  Pleased grunts came from GQ as Bull inched his way in.  How anyone could live not knowing this bliss was beyond her understanding.  Two men competing for wet cunt, a space further shrunk with the plug still in place, she mewled lustfully when they shifted within her.  It was the most intense fucking she could ever imagine.  A tingling spread from her spine out to her fingertips.  For a brief moment, she swore she could feel her non-existent toes curl.  She laughed at her odd thought, _wherever they are, they probably were curling._

“You find this amusing Kadan?”

“Yes.  Imagine how exquisite I feel right now to have two ripped men so eager to plough into me that they can’t wait turns.”

“You assume we were going to be gentlemen about this?”  Bull roared with laughter as he gave up his tender care for a rougher pace. 

Her body stung and sang all at once.  The rope dug deeper, twisting into her flesh as she dangled from the ceiling.  A ripe fruit for them to consume.  She lost herself to the moment.  Muscle bound brawn crushed her between their bodies and slicked her with their sweat. 

Sooner than she wanted, Bull untied her from the anchor and threw her on the bed.  She felt a cool blade glide over her skin and the rope snap away as he cut, releasing the tension.  It seemed to be a waste of rope until she understood the purpose.  Her arms were completely numb and she was unable to move them. 

One of the men climbed on top of her and unceremoniously began to pound into her.  She was completely at his mercy.  Taking deep breaths, she worked to calming herself down.  It wasn’t working.  She started pulling at the Fade, scrambling to grab hold of something.

The man on top stopped.

Bull must have noticed as she heard his voice next to her ear.  “I’m here, Kadan.”

That meant GQ was on her, but Bull was there, right there.  He would protect her.  Safe.  Under the blindfold she closed her eyes and focused on taming her nerves.  “Keep going, use me.”

Bull palmed her skull and shoved her face over his cock.  She tasted her familiar juices coating his impressive shaft.  He was forceful, but knew how to angle properly that he fit snuggly down her throat.  He gave her plenty of chances to breathe by pulling her off him completely.  During those labored breaths she felt a shift in GQ’s weight, then more slurping as he took over her duties. 

The back and forth continued for only a few rounds until, to her surprise, Bull came first.  The hot shots landed on her mouth and over her breasts.  A set of lips covered hers and licked at the sticky substance.  Across the room she heard a bottle be uncorked then consumed.  GQ’s weight lifted from her completely as he leaned back, flipped her on her stomach and resumed his relentless rutting.  It was in no way meant to pleasure her. 

A painful static feeling slowly grew throughout her arms.  GQ’s silence was broken by his grunting that came quicker, and quicker, then he spilled himself with relish over her back.  Huffs of exhaustions attesting to his relief.  His hand smeared the cum over her as he gasped for air. 

His body suddenly moved away from hers, not doubt shoved by Bull.  Face in the bedding and ass up, Praxis felt the tightness in her buttocks disappear when the plug was removed.  Her eyes widened against the velvet.  Before she could say a word, a massive cock that could only be Bull’s was inching its way into her stretched asshole. 

“FUCKING MAKER HELP ME!”  Her arms still refused to obey and her helpless body was left to the ministrations of The Iron Bull. 

How he was ready again so quick, she didn’t know.  All that her brain could process was the way he rammed into her, his cock’s head practically tickling the back of her throat with the intensity he used.  Clutching her limp arms, he pulled on her, rearing her torso upward forcing her to scream at the ceiling. 

Bull released a feral grunt and pushed her off him to slather her once more with his seed.  Naked, sore, tired, Praxis was unable to move.  Bull ignored that she was drenched in the spend of two men.  He lay next to her and collected her against him.  He placed a hand delicately between her legs, two fingers wedged within her.  Slow, purposeful rocking of his hand had his fingers teasing her insides and his palm pressed down and rolled over her clit.  A moment.  A sharp inhale.  She came.  Warmth washed over her like a flood.  Her orgasm filled her blood with sated lust that pulsed life into her like a new heartbeat.  It was the first time she could accurately describe sex as better than any drug she’d ever taken.  Burnt out, she let the darkness overtake her as she fell asleep in Bull’s arms.

 

Bull woke the next morning to their mystery man getting dressed to leave.  As the man fastened his breeches, a half smile crept up the side of his face and he pointed at Bull’s morning wood with a little nod, asking.  Bull looked down to a slumbering Praxis in his arms and figured it wouldn’t be as much fun if she weren’t watching.  He waved the man off and settled deeper into the bed. 

He thought on the previous night with a lecherous grin.  There had been a brief moment he thought she was going to end it early.  Not that he’d mind, but instead she pressed on.  He’d always ensured to compliment her strength and bravery, much as she did him, but when Krem pulled him aside in the tavern after the Boss left to take care of the night’s arrangements, his view was altered. 

_“You never heard from me, but she likes the idea of being a ‘play thing’.  It makes her feel pretty.  Guys like you and I can say she’s lovely, but showing her that you can’t control yourself…”  Krem shrugged._

_Bull snorted.  He didn’t doubt that many men would pass her up simply on looks alone, but he hadn’t considered until that moment that she had insecurities about it.  “She told you this?”_

_“Oh, yeah.”  Krem slapped Bull on the shoulder as he burst into laughter.  “We were lying in bed an’ she asks me if she was a horrible shit for wishing she had another body.”  Krem lowered his voice as though protecting her honor.  “We’d just had sex and she’s asking me this.  It’s not as if she didn’t know.  I’m lookin’ at ‘er and she’s staring right back at me, the irony lost to her.  She never even thought about it, never saw me as anything other than her man.”  He punched Bull brotherly like in the arm.  “That’s why you’re good for her Chief.  You never even thought about it.”_

_Krem made sense and it irritated Bull how right he was.  “You don’t have to keep reminding me that you two used to be together.  Keep it up and I’ll have training rounds starting earlier in the mornings and going longer.”_

_The Lieutenant pushed away from the table, holding his hands up in surrender.  “I get it, I’m good.  Thanks Chief.”  Krem gathered his papers and started for the door.  Passing Bull, he slowed to lean forward and whisper in his ear.  “She wanted me first.”_

_Bull shot to his feet as Krem sprinted for the door._

Pretty enough to jerk off to, lovely enough for more than one man to desire her.  All of her scars, her missing body parts and piece meal repairs were what made her _his_ indomitable Spitfire. 

“You are so beautiful, my brave Spitfire.”

She curled closer to his chest.  “Like Cassandra?”

“Hmf, no, like you.”  Praxis stared back at him, her thoughts lost to him.  He wasn’t sure why it was difficult to read her, perhaps it was the years of hiding her personal insecurities, but when the corner of her mouth tipped up he saw the happiness radiate from her like heat from a fire. 

She chuckled at his compliment.  Moving to the head of the bed, she arranged the pillows to sit upright.  She invited Bull over and he picked up a jar of horn balm before settling himself between her legs.  Having her breasts against his head, her hands molesting his horns, he found himself thinking that the routine wasn’t as mundane as he originally thought when they first started.  Praxis hummed her nameless tune while he massaged her legs. 

“You have a good birthday?  You never mentioned that _you_ were the one to have your brother’s kids.”

“Found out did you?  Must have been Dorian, he was genuinely interested in the process, but Cullen warned me not to tell anyone.  Does it bother you?”

“Although the Qunari engage in selective breeding, even I have a hard time being comfortable with that kind of creepy shit.  It seems just shy of a demon controlling you.  Someone else controlling how a person is born.”  He shook his head a bit, hoping to rustle the train of thought from his mind. It wasn’t going anywhere pleasant.  

“Well, you don’t have to worry about it ever happening again.  There was a problem during the delivery.  I almost bled to death.  After an emergency surgery, I can no longer have anyone’s children.”  Her exhale came out as a whistle.  “Man, you should have seen how pissed that Qunari woman was when I explained that to her.  Geez, you’d thought I had killed her best friend or something.”

Bull let that sink in, his eye narrowed as he considered the information.  “But, all the things your healers can do, the replacements…they couldn’t do anything?”

“No.  They do have limitations you know.  They’re not perfect.  Yet.”  She gave him a sweet kiss on the head.

 _They_.  No longer ‘we’ it was becoming more common for her to refer to her old life that way.  It made it all the easier to keep her close, to imagine it would never end.  He inhaled deep, her aroma giving him life. 

_Mine._

 

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing commission done by [syberfab](http://syberfab.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Getting close to the end! Sort of. Two more chapters, one of which will be Hawke and Cullen talking about what happened in the Fade.
> 
> After that, I'll move on to part II - more story, more of Praxis' homeland, and more Kitty! Although less smut, but that is why I'm making it a part II of the series. I hope some of you will continue to follow, besides, who isn't interested in Bull following Praxis home? Adventure!!!
> 
> Many thanks to all who have been enjoying this odd story with me.


	23. A Champion's Templar (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finally fortifies himself to talk to Cullen. The Commander, on the other hand, is reluctant to forgive easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end (of Part I). Please feel free to check back at old chapters since some art was added after the chapter was added.

Hawke answered the summons he received by messenger and waited for the Inquisitor in the War Room.  Pacing around the large table, he skimmed the markers scattered over the map, not truly reading anything but comprehending enough to turn his stomach.  A city had been placed in his care and he failed.  How the Inquisitor was holding up having entire nations in his hands, Hawke wasn’t sure. 

Cullen was the first to arrive, of course.  Hawke suddenly realized that this was the first time they had a chance at a private word, without the prying eyes of gossiping soldiers.

The haunting conversation with Cole form months ago tried to replay in his mind and he chased it away by talking to Cullen.  As much as he wanted to make amends, he couldn’t live through that again.  Not again.  “Commander.  I understand the Inquisition has been making sizable gains against Corypheus.”

“Yes.”  Cullen kept his head down, going back through his papers, making notes.  Hawke was certain that was the only answer he would receive until Cullen grumbled without looking up.  “Yet, each gain we make, he manages to retaliate harder.  The rumors coming from Amaranthine are…troubling.”

“Rough night?”  Hawke remarked at Cullen rubbing his eyes for the third time since he walked through the door. 

Cullen scoffed.  “You have no idea how taxing it was.  I can’t keep up like I used to.”

Since returning from the Orzammar, Hawke had been assigned to assist Cullen with training recruits.  Although his position was created to alleviate some of the strain of Cullen’s duties, the stubborn man often left him out of much of the planning aspect.  Whether it was distrust or lingering hatred, he wasn’t sure.  Regardless, Cullen clearly had no intention of interacting with Hawke any more than he absolutely had to. 

They were spared any further awkwardness as the rest of the attendees arrived for the meeting.  The Inquisitor, the advisors, Hawke and Alistair circled the war table and listened as Leliana relayed the information her network had gathered. 

The Venatori were seeking a stronger foothold in Fereldan.  The smaller groups that Dorian had turned over to the Inquisition were taken out too easily, which meant a change in tactics.  They were suffering heavy losses at the hands of the Inquisition and it seemed likely they would attempt to regroup and to establish a large base of operations.  The major concern was that they might attempt to take control of an arling which would give them enough resources to be a considerable threat.

“If the Inquisition were stretched so thin as to have to fight on two fronts, I fear that both would fail.  I have already spoken to Cullen and he has agreed to take a contingent of troops out to Amaranthine to ensure that this does not happen.”  The Inquisitor’s demeanor was one of comfortable confidence, which at first had seemed in contrast with his lithe rogue physique.  The longer that Hawke got to know the man, the more he wondered how _he_ would have fared in Kirkwall.  It seemed anyone other than Hawke would have done better.

“I want Warden Alistair and The Champion to accompany the troops.  There are Wardens arriving from Antiva and I want Alistair there to receive them.  Hakwe, I’ll need you to advise Cullen on urban combat if the Venatori have set up in any of the major towns.”

Hawke merely nodded in agreement, but his gut was curdling at the thought.  He silently prayed to the Maker that things wouldn’t come to that.  The Inquisitor continued going into detail about what he wanted accomplished, most of it wasn’t relevant to Hawke so he tuned out most of it.  An easy task when he became distracted by a bright red mark that circled the elf’s neck.  Staring at it, he tried to discern where it would have come from.  Was it from a collar? 

“Hawke!”  Cullen’s voice bit into his daydreaming, his head jerked quickly to face him.  Disapproval dripped from every word and the Commander’s eyes pierced through Hawke like hot irons, making it clear that his presence was not welcome on this mission.  “Will you be ready to leave by noon?”

“Yes, Commander.” 

“Good.  We’re going to take the dragon with us and I know that you will be able to provide Frederic with much needed assistance.”

The Inquisitor sounded less certain about the beast’s ability than Cullen did.  “Are we certain that she can be controlled?”

“Controlled, yes.  As for her usefulness in battle, that remains to be seen.  Praxis suggested Kitty accompany the formation if only to become accustomed to being around a large group.”

The Inquisitor nodded thoughtfully then pressed on with other matters.  Hawke found himself drifting in and out, none of the other topics concerned him and towards the end, he found he’d nearly dozed off completely. 

Alistair ribbed Hawke with his elbow.  "Looks like _somebody_ didn't sleep well last night."

Instinctively Hawke shoved him away.  He hated how easy going the Warden was.  His sass was annoying and he despised how Alistair assumed they were friends.  Looking around the room, he’d missed the rest of the advisors’ departure.   

Cullen fumed while Alistair laughed off the insult.  "Easy Champion!  Someone might think you’re a bit cranky.  You should find someone to work out that tension, _iiifff_ you know what I mean."

Hawke only snarled at the cocky fuck, biting back his retort and crossing his arms to keep from punching his windpipe in.

Alistair knew he’d struck a nerve, but he also knew that Hawke had to behave.  The cursed blighter took advantage by ruffling Hawke's long hair then giggled like a moron, "We're going to have a great time on the road.  I may get a smile out of you before we witness the end of the world."

Hawke scoffed at him.  "Your inability to grasp the seriousness of the situation is not reassuring."

Alistair waved him off as he made for the door.  "I've already faced the end of the world once.  Not so frightening the second time around."

Hawke growled at the empty doorway.  "Asshole."

"A haircut wouldn't hurt."

"What?"  Surprised that Cullen chose something like that to comment on was...hopeful.

"It's gotten to the point that it gets I your eyes, impedes your vision when fighting."  Cullen tilted his head thoughtfully, "or you might be able to pull it back..."

As soon as Hawke stepped forward, Cullen stepped backward and resumed his mask of outright anger.  "Three hours.  Packs on your horse at the gates.  Don't be late."

The mission sounded risky, dangerous.  Maybe this would be his last.  Hawke could leave the Inquisition for good or he might die.  Either way, this trip was his last chance to mend things with Cullen.  All his gear was mostly packed already, so he went to the tavern to seek out Krem.  He found the man in his usual haunt but looking a little worse for wear.

"You alright?"

"Sure, sure.  Gave the Chief some back talk the other day.  Paid for it in spades."  He finished off his tankard then smacked his lips with a wicked grin.  "Worth it though.  You need sum'in?"

"A haircut."

Krem shoved his thumb over his shoulder.  "Skinner is the one you're looking for."  Hawke halted mid stride when Krem shouted at his back.  "Oy!  You, uh...you sleep in your own quarters last night?"

"Yes.  Why?"

"No reason."  Krem leaned back in his chair.  "Just trying to puzzle sum'in out.  Hey!  Stitches!  It wasn't the Champion."

The man who’d been yelled at cursed audibly and threw some coin on the table.  A lost bet perhaps.  Hawke ignored the exchange, the Chargers were known for speaking their own language at times and it was pointless to inquire as to the meaning. 

After an explanation, Skinner led him back behind the tavern to do her work.  She carded his hair, jerking out a few tangles.  Her fingernails raked over his scalp and he wondered the last time anyone touched him so intimately.  Up to this point, he’d cared for his own hair while on the run.  His thoughts drifted backward months, years.  Years.  Maker, he couldn’t even put a face to the sensation. 

Skinner combed the top of his hair then gathered it into a neat knot, tying it off.  From the top of the ears down, she shaved close to the skin, leaving only enough to keep the sun from burning through.  “You want to keep the beard?”

Running his hands over the new look, Hawke decided he preferred this trim to what he’d had before, even without a mirror.  “Yes.  Thank you.”

She trimmed up his beard, then he gave the rogue some coin which she promptly spent in the Tavern.  A cool breeze tickled the back of his unprotected head.  He fought off a shiver then went about his chores in preparation for march. 

As requested by the appointed hour, he rode his saddled horse to the gates and found Cullen and Alistair speaking in low tones.  Alistair beamed with delight as his conversation caused Cullen to redden in the cheeks.  It reached the point that Cullen had to steer his mount away from the Warden who was relishing in his teasing. 

“Oh, come now.  You said yourself that Bull…”

“Alistair!”  His reproach cut the arrogant prick off.  Unfazed, Alistair winked in retort before veering his horse out the portcullis to join the main formation waiting outside the castle grounds.  Turning to Hawke, Cullen visually paused, taking in Hawke’s cleaner appearance.  “I didn’t mean… _[sigh]_ at least you _look_ the Champion instead of a vagabond.”

Without another word, the Commander spurred his horse onward to avoid any further conversation.  Hawke fell in behind him as they rode to the head of the formation. 

Hawke felt like a fool.  Since the burning of Kirkwall he’d blamed Cullen for his loneliness.  Hawke’s temper had raged at the unjust blow dealt to him, pinning Cullen as the reason he couldn’t find a moment, not even a second of peace.  The Maker owed him for the burdens he bore.  Riding down the mountain he looked over at the Commander of the Inquisition forces and he felt small.  None of it was the Commander’s fault.  Hawke finally understood that now.  His pain didn’t hurt less, but the fact he ignored Cullen’s, that he hadn’t even aware of what Cullen had survived…

The visions of the slaughter the Commander was forced to re-live in the Fade haunted Hawke.  He felt his heart split open at the thought of Cullen’s suffering.  What nightmares must he endure?

Marching with a formation of soldiers proved slow going, considering there were the wagons of supplies bringing up the rear and only the ranking officers were on horseback.  Kitty frequently became full of nervous energy and took to the skies, circling the troops before having to resort to following at the rear with Frederic. 

The day’s march got them out of the biting winds of the snowy mountains to the relatively warmer basin outside the Hinterlands.  The campsite they found had patches of grass for the mounts but overall it was mostly mud from a recent rain.  Attempts were made to find a drier area for the bed down, but darkness fell too quickly and they had to accept a night in soggy conditions. 

Cullen had Hawke assist Frederic in getting Kitty settled.  The dragon had become comfortable around Hawke, so he traded his armor for a simple shirt and breeches.  They found a cave that could accommodate the growing reptile who was thrilled to be in a warmer climate.  She still used fire to heat the rocks in the cave, rising the temperature even higher to her preference.  Frederic didn’t need much help since he dealt with her on a daily basis.  Cullen had simply created an excuse to keep Hawke away.  During the ride there wasn’t a chance to speak since they were surrounded by his men.  Hawke wondered what the average soldier thought of the man.  Respect for him as a Commander was clear as day, but did they even think of him as a person?  As a person who could have a lover?

“No, not at all.  I can’t see it.  You must be lying.”

“I’m telling Merran’s brother’s cousin’s boyfriend’s aunt works in the castle, swears she saw him go in their quarters the other night.  Didn’t come out ‘til in the morning.”

“Commander wouldn’t do that kind of thing.  He was raised by the Chantry.”

“But he left that life didn’t he?”

The soldiers’ conversation snared Hawke’s attention in an instant.  Curious at what in the void they could be referring to, he kept to his hiding spot behind a tent while the four soldiers continued to argue around the campfire.  Their voices were low, which was reasonable, given the sensitive topic.   

“Well, she does go an’ visit ‘im most nights in his office.  Why would he go to her quarters?”

“When she goes to his office, Jim swears that’s always been for Templar training.  No, last night was more’n that, ‘cause it weren’t just her he was visiting.”

There were gasps and low whistles. 

“No.  No!  Who in all of Thedas would want to wedge themselves into the middle of that?  How would you even do it?  She’s crippled and he’s, well, _huge_.  Need I remind you that sometimes she ends up in the healers’ quarters after a night with the Bull.  Rough might be considered too gentle for the likes of them.”

The musing struck Hawke hard.  Was Cullen involved with Praxis and Bull?  He knew that she saw the Commander for Templar training but this was the first he’d heard of anything that was anything but innocuous. 

“Bah!  You’re gross.  The whole lot of you.  So what?  We all need a break now and then.  So what if the Commander needs to blow off some steam a little different than the rest of us.  You ask me, he’s a tough blighter for even considering it.”

“Can you even imagine what those two would even _do_ to him?”

“Crippled my ass.  I heard that she killed forty Qunari spies by herself while still bleeding from her leg.  When she was faced with the last one, her weapon failed and she thought she was a gonner until The Iron Bull and the Champion jumped from the Fade and…”

The Commander’s night activities were forgotten and storytelling took over the campfire.  At least the story was marginally accurate.  It had actually been twenty-three Qunari.  Hawke would have sworn Varric would have already blown it wholly out of proportion by now, especially knowing that Praxis and the writer spent many afternoons together exchanging stories.  Maybe he hadn’t been properly inspired for this one yet. 

Or maybe it was fantastical enough as it was.

Hawke made his way through the maze of tents to the command post.  He found the Captains and Lieutenants milling about, only about half doing any actual work.  There was no sign of the Commander. 

“You lookin’ for the Commander, Ser?” A random Captain pointed vaguely to the darkening woods beyond the field.  “He and the Warden went out on a perimeter check.  Shouldn’t be too long if’n you wanna wait.”

“No.  Thank you.” 

Unwilling to wait, Hawke crossed the open field to disappear into the tree line.  Even with the moons out, much was obscured by the thin forest and underbrush.  It wasn’t long before he happened upon a river that cut through the trees’ thick canopy, allowing moonlight to spill over the rippling water.  Listening to the babbling of the river, Hawke realized it didn’t sound quite right. 

Deciding the noise wasn’t coming from the river, he followed the shoreline to find its source.  With each step it was evident that something, no, someone was making the noise – the moaning.  Once he saw the entangled figures ahead of him, he ducked into the concealment of the woods. 

Peering through the brush, Hawke made out Alistair and Cullen.  He didn’t know what to do.  Seeing them together, he felt the sting of rejection.  Or was it regret.  Helpless.  Worthless.  Weak.  How often had he felt this way?  Hawke sat and watched. 

He was losing everything.  Already lost everything.  The process began with his father years ago and since then, anyone who was important to him was gone.  Maker, even Varric.  The red lyrium was Hawke’s fault.  Couldn’t save his friends, family, shit what chance did a city have?  Being with him was toxic, that much was clear.  He should let Cullen stay far away for his own good.

Why did it hurt to let Cullen be with someone else?

_You envy his strength.  You desire the purpose he has found.  You crave his approval._

Cole’s words choked in his throat making his blood heat with anger and regret.  It was only after Cole’s intervention he realized that anger was meant for himself.  Never Cullen. 

Resting on his knees, he chanced another look at the pair. 

Cullen lay on his back, hips arched upward as his hands reached beyond the protective blanket he lay on to grasp helplessly in wet mud.  Alistair was securely wedged between his legs, holding onto the Commander’s knees as his body undulated to drive his cock deep into the warrior.  Cullen was biting his lip, struggling to stay quiet.  A small reminder that the whole army was only a short distance away.  If he screamed, someone would come looking for them.  A thin line of blood seeped out of the corner of his mouth, but pleased noises still rose from his throat. 

Alistair, that arrogant prick, had a smug grin plastered on his face as the Commander’s body writhed beneath him.  Hawke had met nobles less particular about their hair and Hawke hated that damn swagger he sported – ass.  The insulting thought drew Hawke’s attention to the Warden’s buttocks which had Hawke grinding his teeth, rage foaming in his mouth.

On his well-toned rear, which was possibly the result from fucking half of Thedas, were long thin welt lines that crisscrossed over the creamy flesh.  That wasn’t nearly as upsetting as the bite marks.  Dark circles with an unmistakable ring of teeth indents betrayed what Cullen had undoubtedly done in their foreplay. 

Then Alistair spoke, giggles weaved within every word.  “ _Yeesss,_ you like that?  You enjoy when I make you take it, fill you up like my little whore?”

Cullen’s head shock from side to side, struggling to maintain control of his volume.  “Fuck yes, make me your whore.” 

Something snapped.  Hawke’s vision turned red as he sprung from his hiding spot.  Rushing the naked Warden, he tackled him to the ground, separating him from a shocked Cullen.  Alistair’s initial surprise vanished quickly as he found himself being attacked by Hawke’s relentless fists.  They wrestled for dominance, rolling, pulling, punching, entirely headless of the mud that clung to them. 

“Break it up!  Break it up!”  Cullen barked at the both of them but he pulled on Hawke since he still had clothing to grab ahold of easily.    

As the distance increased between them, Hawke now saw that it was possible for the Warden’s face to contort into a disagreeable sneer.  Hawke snorted a laugh at how the look was more fitting for the dirt bag.  Alistair took offense and dove forward, fists flying.  Most of them landed on their target, the last few were taken by Cullen.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”  Cullen shoved Alistair toward the creek.  “Clean up and get dressed.”  When Hawke leaned that way to at least wash his face, Cullen held him firmly to the spot.  “Not you.  You’re going to walk through the camp like this.  You have a lot to answer for _Champion._ ”

At that, Cullen left him with his thoughts as he also went to retrieve his clothing.  Alistair soon joined them, looking mildly refreshed.  The trio headed back to camp in silence and it was the first time that Hawke could recall the light becoming more frightening than the dark.  In the brightness could see the damage he’d done to Alistair.  It was more than he thought.  Blood oozed from his mouth, nose and eye.  Purple and green bruises covered the left side of his face.  He looked a complete wreck. 

The gravity of what he’d done a fit of anger slammed home hard when he looked at Cullen.  Lacking his armor and wearing a similar outfit as his own, Cullen still managed to cut an intimidating stature.  His strides were long and even had Hawke quickening his pace to keep up.  Soldiers took one glance in the enraged Commander’s direction and immediately ran off.  When they reached the tent erected as the command post, all stragglers that had been idly hanging about earlier were scrambling to find somewhere else to be.

Cullen stopped at the tent’s entrance.  When he spoke it was an even tone that carried the threat of death for anyone who dared contradict him.  “You.  Get to a healer.”  Alistair left but not before sticking his tongue out at Hawke, adding insult the punishment that was looming.  Hawke felt a shove as he stumbled into the tent.  “You. Get in here.”

“Upset that I ruined your fun?”  Once in the privacy of the tent and knowing that no one was stupid enough to be within earshot, Hawke goaded the Commander.  Why not?  There was little chance he’d be able to make amends now. 

“I’m impressed you managed to sting a sentence together that didn’t involve a right hook.”  Striding past, Cullen took up a seat behind the travel desk.  It was plain and sturdy, but it was half the size of the one back at Skyhold and yet was still expected to contain the same amount of work.  Lanterns hanging from the ceiling provided most of the light, but the walls glowed from the nearby abandoned campfires. 

The formidable man sat rigid in his chair, his hands rested overlapping at the edge of the desk.  “Do you recall our last conversation concerning that temper of yours?”

 _Know this now:  Should you lay a hand on me again, I will not hesitate to cut you down._  

Cullen’s words had pierced him through to the bone.  Had he been as brutal to Cullen as he had Alistair?  It was a change that he instigated.  Another failure to tack on to the Great Champion’s legacy.

“Of course I do.”  Hawke slammed his fist on the desk.  Mud splattered everywhere causing Cullen to frown at the damaged paperwork.  “You should have let me apologize then!  Had I known my actions would have driven you to sleep with half of Skyhold…”

“What did you say?”  Quiet.  Unnerving.  Death would have pissed himself had Cullen used such a tone on him.

Hawke, on the other hand, had nothing to lose.  Cullen had already promised to cut him down, why prolong the wait?  “You heard me!  Alistair, Bull, Praxis-”

“Stop.”  The Commander drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  The pause gave Hawke reason to doubt his accusation, even though he’d just caught Alistair in the act.  Cullen’s composure was immaculate.  “First: I will not have you fabricating baseless accusations about my officers, especially not the Commandant.  Second.”  The blonde rose and walked around the desk, his boots landing heavy on the tarp covered ground, like a drum.  An ominous cadence that ticked down the seconds Hawke had left to live in this world.

“Second: **No one controls me.**   Nothing you do, nothing you say, affects me in any way.  My actions are my own.”  He stood a breath away from Hawke, their eyes locked easily with their matching heights.  “Neither you, nor the Chantry have any claim on me.”

The decade long strain the Chantry had placed on Cullen began to show.  Cracks were now visible, showing the torment that lived within and refused to leave.  This crazy bastard accepted it.  Cullen scrapped together the remaining pieces of his life and charged forward, finding new meaning with the Inquisition. What had Hawke done?  _He_ was the one who ran. 

“I’m sorry.”

“So you said in the Fade.”  Cullen scoffed at the condolence.

“I still love you.”

The Commander laughed in his face, the sound lacking any kindness or mirth.  “You think you could come in here, fight my lover, then expect me to forgive you after what you did to me?”

“Dammit Cullen I didn’t know!  I thought…I…”  Coles words began to spill from his own mouth.  The truth finally given voice.  “I was afraid.  I didn’t want to be alone.  I didn’t know you were breaking free from a nightmare.  Maker’s breath,” He reached out to cup Cullen’s face, his thumb running up the scar that sliced through Cullen’s lip.  “I was scared, Cullen.  I thought no one had it worse than me.”

Cullen brushed aside Hawke’s hand but the motion was gentle.  Encouraging.  “You are too much of a risk.  You can’t control yourself.”

“No, I can’t.  Not the with the way Alistair was treating you.”  Cullen rolled his eyes, but Hawke grabbed his shoulder to emphasize his sincerity.  “Not the way he spoke to you.”

Hawkes fingers began to tremble, what he meant, what he wanted to say stayed lodged in his chest.

“The s-sex, i-it doesn’t mean anything.”  Cullen mumbled it noncommittally, his voice hollow.

“No.  It doesn’t.”  Hawke’s hands captured Cullen’s stern face delicately, “but this does.”

Hawke was gentle, his lips skimmed over Cullen’s, learning the unique texture.  Treading over old ground anew, he tenderly swept his hands down to trace Cullen’s arms and bring the man’s hands to his waist, encouraging him to reciprocate the exploration. 

“We’re not having sex.”  Cullen stared blankly as the Champion moved his lips to caress the warrior’s shoulder. 

“I don’t care.  I’m sorry.”  Hawke knelt as he continued to have his mouth press against every inch of Cullen’s torso. 

Cullen continued to be passive, but he didn’t shove him away either.  “I’m sorry.”  Over and over he said the phrase.  It became a whisper after a while.  Hawke’s hands worked in conjunction with his lips.  He massaged and fondled through Cullen’s clothes, not once trying to remove them. 

Searching old memories, he found that Cullen had become leaner than he remembered.  Perhaps the desk work was the culprit, or the change in armor, or…

His head fell forward to have his head land softly on Cullen’s thighs, his hands still clinging to the shirt.  A tightness in his chest paralyzed him. 

“The demons.”  At Cullen’s words, Hawke didn’t move, worried he’d frighten him silent again.  “The demons, they-they offered me anything I wanted.  Begged me to indulge.  Demanded that I give in and take what I wanted.  I’d deserved it.  I had earned it.  After so many refusals, they gave up and resorted to pitting me against my fellow Templars.”

Hawke pinched his eyes shut, the nightmare from the Fade becoming clear once more in his mind’s eye. 

Cullen released a weighted sigh, relieved to share his burden.  “I can’t, I couldn’t get off unless I was being used.  It reminded me that I wasn’t in the Fade, that I wasn’t being controlled.”

“Maker.  Is there a one of us that hasn’t been broken?”  Hawke spoke to Cullen’s feet as he kept his head bowed low.  “Use you?  I can’t do that.”

Rising to his feet, Hawke’s knees buckled a little, a small reminder of his age.  It was time for him to go.  Hawke didn’t look back since he didn’t expect Cullen would protest his leaving.

“Stop.  Take your clothes off.”  Startled at the command, Hawke glanced over his shoulder to see Cullen retrieving pitcher of water.  “You need to clean up.”

As Hawke undressed, Cullen turned his back on him and went to lay on his bedroll.  The field bath didn’t take long, but before he was done, Hawke noticed that Cullen had fallen fast asleep.  All Hawke had left that was clean to wear were his smalls.  Unsure if he should don his mud coated clothing to reach his tent or if he should borrow Cullen’s, he decided he would chance waking the Commander. 

He walked around the command tent and extinguished most of the lanterns, the entire time he felt out of place.  When did they become men who would shoulder the burden of saving the world?  Looking around the tent his eyes washed over all the physical reminders of the people Cullen took under his charge, an army twice the size of Kirkwall.  The fate of all of Thedas rest in the ex-Templar’s hands. 

Hawke reached out to nudge Cullen’s shoulder.  “Commander, I’m...”

A sleepy arm snaked upward to tangle with his own.  “Stay.”

Hawke sat cross-legged at the blonde’s side, shoulders slouched.  “What are we doing Cullen?  Is this how it will always be?”

“I don’t know.”  He sat up particaly, using one arm to support his weight.  “I do know that I’m done with having my actions being governed by someone else.”  He placed his free hand on Hawke’s knee.  “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.  I want to blame the Chantry, but I was the one who let them.” 

“I’m tired Cullen.”  Peering at the other man who looked as beat as he felt, Hawked noticed a major difference.  Cullen was resilient and that survivability was what held his chest puffed out, his chin high.  “Maker’s breath, what I would give for your strength.”

Cullen snorted a light chuckle.  “I must be a glutton for punishment.”  He rubbed his hand up and down Hawke’s leg, the fingertips trickling dangerously close to Hawke’s inner thigh.  He faced Hawke with leveled seriousness.  “You have mine, for as long as this works between us.  I have no fantasies of a happy ever after, but I want to be happy.”

“ **A chuisle.** ”  The stolen endearment that he once herd Sabastian use fell from his lips unbidden.  However, the word seemed to hook into Cullen’s mouth and draw them together.  The snared Commander leaned forward, crawling on his hands and knees to put Hawke on his back as their lips locked together.

They both drew deep breaths at their bodies met, then hot exhales rushed out to mingle on welcoming flesh.  Cullen’s head dipped in, over and over, coating Hawke’s mouth, neck and chest with reverent kisses. 

“I’m still going to punish you in the morning.” The words came between labored huffs. 

“Will you see him again?”  The sentence came on choked breaths, Hawke arching as Cullen bit his nipple and sucked.  Even with the sensual distraction the unique pitch to the question asked more than he said.

“No.  Nor Bull, or anyone else.  Though the Templars would say otherwise, I do know how to be faithful.”  Cullen straightened his spine to have his hands card through Hawke’s thick chest hair.  They skimmed deliciously over muscle that Hawke flexed with the hope it helped to entice the Commander to continue.  “Blessed Andraste, you feel amazing.”

Cullen pulled his shirt over his head, which earned him a wicked grin from Hawke.  “I thought we weren’t having sex.  Or do I need to find a woman for it to be a three-way for you?”

“Flames, do you ever shut up?  As for no sex,” The Commander braced himself on his hands once more then dipped his hips down low to tap against Hawke’s crotch.  The contact was less than a second long, but Hawke knew that Cullen was already as hard as steel.  “you can still say ‘no’.”

“We can do this only if you’ll fuck me.”

“I- y-you know how I feel about that.” 

“Do it however you like, but I will not take you as they have.  You deserve better.” 

Cullen sat back on his heels, still panting from the heated moment.  He rubbed at the back of his neck while he had a silent debate with himself.  He finally reached a decision and fished out a jar from one of the nearby sacks. 

With long strokes, Cullen slicked his cock with the oil from the jar before placing his fingers over Hawke’s asshole. 

Hawke was instantly reminded once more how long it had been since someone last touched him.  “Void take me!  _Oh-oh_ , don’t stop.”

“You need to find a way to sound less _demon-y_.”

“Sure, sure.”  A finger began to explore his insides.  Hawke’s head slammed backward as he struggled for a coherent thought.  “I, uh, you c-could tell me how you’ll punish me tomorrow.  Start with that.”

The pleased hum from the Commander assured Hawke he’d picked a good topic.  “Publicly.”  He bent forward and took the smallest amount of Hawke’s cockshead in his mouth.  “You will apologize to Alistair.”

Another finger joined the first then Hawke screamed when a thumb made small, skilled circles on his perineum.  His throat went dry and his body was no longer his own.  A slave to the feral instincts that Cullen was drawing out him, Hawke gave in to let it happen. 

“I won’t do it.”  Cullen laughed which pushed Hawke to continue to ‘defy’ him.  “You can go fuck yourself.”

In one swift move, Cullen consumed his entire cock.  When Hawke felt his tip lodge in the tight space of the man’s throat, then squeezed as he swallowed, a jolt of unbridled lust made his entire body explode.  Lunging upward he snagged Cullen’s hair to pull him off.

“Please don’t.  I won’t make it.”

“Say you’ll apologize.”

Shoving Cullen’s head away, Hawke growled through gritted teeth.  “Eat shit you fucking dog-lord!”

When Cullen pulled his fingers out, Hawke felt a quick drop in his stomach as his body mourned the loss, but soon it was raging with ecstasy once more when Cullen shoved his face against his ass.  He lapped wantonly, randomly prodding his entrance with his tongue time and again.  Sparks of color burst behind Hawke’s eyelids. 

“Sweet Maker!  I can’t breathe, I can’t _think!_ ”   

Cullen gave Hawke a moment to regain some of his thoughts by backing off and worked himself back up on his knees.  Watching with hungry eyes, Hawke attentively enjoyed seeing Cullen take himself in hand.  Slow, long strokes pinched at the tip to have cum bead and spill over.

“You want me to fuck an apology out of you?”  Cullen angled his prick to have his tip ghost over Hawke’s ass then teased his sac with a few weak slaps of his dick. 

“I’d rather walk the Fade than say anything to that self-righteous, little weakling.  You want an apology?”  Hawke grabbed his own cock, biting back the pleasured groan that threatened to ruin the mood.  “Here!  Go ahead and fuck it out of me!  I’ll feed him every fucking drop!”

That smirk.  That beautiful grin that Hawke had missed so much, was made all the more irresistible by the artful scar that cut through his upper lip.  Cullen gracefully donned the expression which undoubted tented men’s pants and soaked the smalls of women. 

Hawke should have known it was the calm before the storm.  Cullen slammed into him to the point Hawke gasped as he tried to squirm away.  The warrior’s hands dug into Hawke’s hips, forcing them to stay linked together. 

“No, you insolent ass.  You’re going to take it.  You like roughing people up?  Let’s see how you enjoy it.”  It was his Commander’s tone.  The authority that rang in the words made shivers wiggle throughout Hawke’s whole body.  He was being fucked by pure, raw power and nothing could be more intoxicating.

His back slid and jerked over the bedroll as Cullen found a pace _he_ enjoyed.  For Hawke it stung for a while but he didn’t dare ask the man to stop.  The _thud, thud,_ of his own neglected dick on his stomach drove him to a breaking point.  “More.  Please, more!  Jerk me off!  I’ll do it.  I’ll suck his cock if you want, please let me cum.” 

Apparently satisfied with his answer, Cullen wrapped his hand around Hawke’s throbbing arousal.  Hawke lurched upward at the explosion of pleasure.  Wrapping his arms around Cullen’s chest, he claimed the man’s mouth before wedging his face into the crook of his neck.  Fevered whispers danced within their tortured breaths, sticking to their bodies that shimmered with sweat. 

_“I love you.”_

_“I need you.”_

_“Don’t leave me.”_

The strong drag of Cullen's cock pushing and pulling within him in conjunction with the long stokes of his hand had tears threatening the corners of Hawke's eyes.  Maker, Hawke felt as if he were being ripped asunder.  Cullen’s chest heaved three times before he fully unloaded into Hawke.  His release wreaked his body, his muscles spasmed and his eyes disappeared into his head.  Watching him come undone was the final straw for Hawke.  It was the sexiest thing he’d seen in years.  His own cum burst forth in thick white spurts as he came…and came, and came - soaking the two of them.  He didn’t think anything of it until Cullen paused to stare with questioning eyes.

Hawke shrugged.  “It’s been a while.  Not all of us have a room full of people willing to fuck them at a moment’s notice.”

Cullen shot him a reproving look as he handed Hawke a shirt to use for cleanup.  “I don’t have a room full of people.”

Not wanting Cullen to take him too seriously, Hawke playfully slapped Cullen’s ass before he worked his way back into the bedroll.  “C’mon.  Half the camp was talking about it tonight.  You, Bull _and_ Praxis last night.  Damn.  They don’t know whether you’re crazy or brave.  Or some freakish mixture of both.”

“Hawke, I wasn’t with them last night.  You can ask Cassandra. We were planning for the march today most of the night.  Who told you that?”

“A soldier heard it from a friend’s cousin’s aunt…something like that.” Hawke pulled a spare blanket over himself as he inched closer to the Commander, using a wad of Cullen’s clean clothes for a pillow.  “If it wasn’t you then, who did they see?”

Cullen turned on his side to warp an arm over Hawke, nuzzling close before whispering a name in his ear.

“YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!”

***

“There you are!” 

Dorian was a bit surprised at that angry tone that Mahanon struck, but he played up his charms to hopefully ease the Inquisitor’s ire.  “Here I am!”

Mahanon grabbed Dorian by the arm and jerked him into the small alcove in the library that the mage had claimed as his own.  “I had to change my coat after the War Council.  Can you imagine why?”

Unsure what Dorian could have possibly done to make one of Mahanon’s coats unwearable was beyond him.  Speechless, Dorian shook his head in confusion.  He didn’t seem to be in the mood for playful banter.

Irritated, Mahanon undid his top button and pulled at the mandarin collar to expose his neck.  At first Dorian was hoping it would be an invitation for some afternoon affection but instead was met with fiery eyes that weren’t fueled with passion.  “You said it wouldn’t leave a mark.  You said you knew what you were doing!”

 _Oh!_ The red ring around the Inquisitor’s neck was fading now that the day was nearing an end, but it was still visible enough to warrant wearing a high collar.  Dorian couldn’t deny that it must have been awkward to have someone point it out to him.  Hopefully it was someone tactful, like Josephine. 

“Amatus, I do know what I am doing when it comes to matters of the bedroom, alas, I had not considered your, _ah - ahem,_ enthusiasm.”

The red in Mahanon’s face grew darker, whether in anger, frustration, or embarrassment, Dorian couldn’t tell.  

Pointing a finger in Dorian’s chest, the Inquisitor pressed on.  “Vhenan, do not think for one moment you can sweet talk your way…”

A burst of red light killed the words on his tongue and both men stared at the glow emanating from Dorian’s chest.  Rushed, Dorian pulled out the hidden amulet and removed it from his neck as if it were on fire.  Hurried footsteps brought Solas to the second floor in time to hear the voices coming from the amulet dangling from Dorian’s fist.

_“Alright, the portal is stable and we’re ready to move out.  Who’s ready to get our girl back?”_

_A chorus of voices answered.  “HOOAH!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping things up and finishing up the outline for Part II. If there is anything in particular you're interested in for the next part, leave a note.


	24. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new threat changes Praxis' life forever.

The Iron Bull leaned back against a wall, listening to the back and forth as Mahanon debated with his advisors and inner circle as to how the Inquisition would proceed.  According to Dorian, the amulet alerted them to the possible presence of Praxis’ people coming on the hunt for her.  Only a few hours had passed since the creepy thing had informed them, so of course, there was nothing from the field that could have come in such short a time. 

“Inquisitor, you have to see this for the threat that it is.”  Solas was calm as he spoke but he failed to hide the irritated anger in his eyes as he glared at those present in the war room.

“I understand your concern, but we can’t mount an offensive against an unknown force.  Leliana has yet to receive any word on their whereabouts, assuming they even crossed over to our world.”  As Mahanon spoke, Captain Harding agreed with a firm nod.  With Cullen away from Skyhold, she had been promoted and took over his duties at the keep.

Turning on Dorian, Solas continued to argue his point.  “You’ve said it on multiple occasions, her people are dangerous with their weaponry.  We’ve seen it first hand when Praxis escaped from the hands of the Qunari.  Alone.  No one else could have possibly accomplished that.” 

Solas, as well as any mage had a right to be nervous.  If being near Praxis interrupted their spell casting, then it was only natural to assume that anyone else from her world would have the same effect.  Mages tended to not enjoy having their magic restricted.

“I have spent hours talking with her and granted, they were mostly stories, but from what I can understand, her people are conquerors.”  Varric shook his head as if betraying a best friend.  “If they find something they’re interested in, we could be in for some serious shit.”

“Then how do we know she wasn’t a scout sent a head to do just that?”  Vivenne posed the question with an elegant flick of her wrist, as if that were the answer they were looking for all along. 

“No.  There’s absolutely no doubt that her being here is an accident, it was my miscalculation which affected the area of effect for the amulet.  She had everything back home, family, a position of power...there was no reason for her to abandon such a life.”  Dorian’s protectiveness stemmed from the personal blame he took on for Praxis being ripped from her world.

Solas was unconvinced.  “Which only lends more credibility to the possibility she is subtly working for them to _maintain_ that power once she returns.  What better way to regain favor than to offer Skyhold, or even the entire Inquisition on a silver platter?” 

Bull watched Dorian’s reaction more so than focusing on what was said.  Dorian was nervous.  He’d talked some of her world but more than anything, he was a bit frightened, although hiding it well.  He agreed with Solas but out of respect for Praxis, he held back.  Bull had seen first-hand what Praxis was able to accomplish while injured and with only one weapon.  What would a group of her kind look like?  How much could they carry?  How much damage could they do?

The longer the conversation continued, the quieter Dorian became.  He’d seen something, knows something…frustrating thing loyalty.  Dorian was a good friend, but he needed to set that aside and think of the Inquisition. 

Bull knew exactly who would be able to do that.  “Why don’t we bring Praxis in here and she can tell you for herself?  Clear up some of this…mess?”

Solas scoffed, adding a lilt of an incredulous laugh.  “You cannot seriously suggest that she would be objective in this manner, do you?”  Solas scanned the group, Vivienne seemed to be the only one in full accordance with Solas.  “These are her people we’re talking about.  Should they pose a credible threat, what do you expect from her?  That she’d turn on them in, in the name of the Inquisition?”

“She could stop them, reason with them to return.”  Dorian made the statement matter of factly, but there was a lingering doubt that anyone would have caught.

Bull was glad to see that the Inquisitor wasn’t blindly agreeing with his lover.  The authoritative elf hadn’t kept his position from running into a situation without a careful study of his options. 

“I have to agree with Bull.  Dorian only spent a few weeks’ time there, Cullen even less since he was laid up recovering.  We have to bring in someone who knows what we may be facing.  Josephine, if you could please send a runner and have her brought here immediately.”

As they waited, the room broke into pockets of idle conversation.  Bull kept to himself against the wall.  He had not once considered the idea that her people would come for her.  According to Dorian, it was impossible.  Well, shows how much he knows.  It didn’t seem that Praxis considered the possibility either.  Most often she didn’t mention much of her world, the stories became difficult to understand as the terms and objects involved became more difficult to describe than spell casting.

She would probably return with them as Solas says, setting aside hypothetical motives, it only made sense she would go home, to her family, her old life.  They had spoken before that their being together was only something that was temporary.  There were never any plans beyond stopping Corypheus.  _If_ they survived, he had always assumed they would part ways.  Like most people, she would probably like to settle down in the calm after the war.

However, seeing the day come so quickly, was…disconcerting.  The feeling it made in his throat was uncomfortable.  He was thankful when the doors opened for Praxis, his mind began to linger on the tightness in his chest and he welcomed the distraction that pulled him away from naming that pain.

She paraded straight for Mahanon, not one to waste time or words and saluted, “Your Worship.”

Praxis stood silently as she listened to Mahanon explain the warning they heard through the amulet.  Her eyes widened in surprise and her posture failed as she slumped against the table.  Her eyes wandered wildly as she searched for what to say.  Looking up, her gaze fell naturally on Bull.  If ever there were any confirmation that his hunch was right, he witnessed it as the happiness drained from her features completely.  Assuming a mask of stern control, she turned back to Mahanon.

“This can’t be good.  Normally I would be given up for dead.  But this…shit.”

“You don’t seem too surprised by this turn of events.”  Solas assumed a shared distrustful air with Vivienne with his accusatory comment.

“No.  Not really.  I had hoped…”  She grabbed at her head and let out a growl of frustration.  “I never doubted their capabilities, but fuck me.  This is bad.  This could be really bad.”

Having someone make accusations was one thing.  Hearing it come straight from Praxis, brought a dark cloud over the meeting.  Anyone who had lingering doubts now fell in line behind Solas’ suggestion.  These people were indeed a threat.

“If they accomplished a pass through to this world, the resources required would be substantial, which means we’re not dealing with the normal government.”

“How is that bad?  Antiva functions off of the side dealings of others acting in the name of the prince.  How is this so troubling?”  Josephine spoke as sweetly as a flower cradling a drop of dew, but she was not one to miss the point.  Someone else was backing this mission to find Praxis.

“The government is restricted in their actions when confronted with ‘uncontacted civilizations’.  Under public scrutiny, they would be forced to leave Thedas alone.  However, if this is a project by Big Brother, then, no rules apply.  Act first, ask for forgiveness later-if anyone finds out.  It works entirely in the shadows.”

Mahanon rested a hand on top of hers.  “Are they a threat?”

“Yes.  Until I can speak to them and determine their intent, we should treat them as such.”

“How convenient then, that the Commander is absent from Skyhold at precisely the wrong time with the majority of the army.”  Vivienne inspected her nails, dulling one of them, but the bite in her words were as sharp as ever.

“Then we’ll have to cut them off before they make it here.  Inquisitor, I recommend sending myself and The Chargers to intercept them.  They would be best suited to adjust tactics if necessary and better able to accommodate their oddities.”

Nodding in agreement, Mahanon pondered the dilemma for a moment longer before adding, “I will also take a team with you, to meet them first hand.”

_To keep an eye you._

Praxis gave a nod of understanding before turning to Bull.  “How soon can we head out?” 

“My guys will be at the gate in an hour, if that’s okay with you, Boss.  They’re always ready.”

 

The preparations for the mission were an awkward process.  Bull informed the Chargers of the mission, the possible threat and added that Praxis should be watched closely.  No one was happy about the idea, but they knew how to set personal issues aside and get a job done.

Outside the stables, the Inquisitor’s party mounted their horses and servants strapped down the supply sacks.  Bull swore his Fereldan Grey rolled its eyes each time he saw Bull approach.  Even with the lighter sacks the poor beast huffed under his weight.  No one spoke to Praxis or even amongst themselves.  The sudden change in circumstances cut quickly through the ties she’d spent months forging.  How quickly fortunes could change.

Taking in the area, Bull saw that everyone was ready to ride out.  Except for Praxis.   Bull laughed heartily at Master Dennent trying to coax her up on a horse and her soundly refusing.  “Kadan, don’t tell me you’re spooked by a horse.  She’s half the size of mine!”

“Shut up asshole!  They’re big and have freakish teeth!”  The hose swung its head toward her voice.  Praxis crossed her arms over her chest and held her hands up defensively as she took a few steps backward into Master Dennent. 

Krem leaned forward in his saddle, “Are you telling me that you rode a dragon before riding a horse?”

The simple observation had the entire party laughing, some nervously, but it was better than the bitter silence.  Praxis chucked a horse apple near Krem’s head. 

“I don’t have to miss pretty boy!”  She tried to sound harsh, but that was a difficult task when her smile conquered her features so soundly.

It was just the break they needed to ease the tension. 

“Pitiful shem.  Ride with me before you embarrass yourself further.”  Skinner rode near and reached out to help Praxis up on her horse. 

With a helpful boost from Master Dennent, Praxis was up with a minimal amount of struggling. 

 

The entire journey to Haven, Praxis stayed silent.  The rest of the party engaged in easy banter, slowly lifting the mood.  By the time they were ready to make camp, things felt close to a normal mission out with the Boss, with the exception of the larger size. 

As anticipated, Praxis walked stranger than normal, unaccustomed to the gait of a horse, she was saddle sore.  Unable to resist, Bull slapped her on the ass, nearly knocking her over. 

“You’d best figure out how to adjust quickly Kadan, today was only a half day.”

“You’d best admire the sight while you can.  It’s not as if _you’ve_ garnered this kind of result recently.”  The Chargers attempted to mask their sniggering, but Mahanon, Dorian and Varric were almost in tears before they were able to control themselves once more.

She was doing a good job of not appearing to be affected by the change in attitude towards her.  He’d have to get her in private to know for certain.  She was good at keeping up a façade, even after all this time it was tough for him to tell sometimes.

The horses were tied up and left to graze in the small field of struggling weeds.  The snow wasn’t as thick on the ground here as it was at Skyhold, but it considered cold as fuck regardless.  With so many hands available, the campsite was set up and dinner passed around before the sunset.  Two more days and they’d reach Haven, or at least the site where it had once stood.  The entire party was able to fit comfortably around a large single fire as they finished up their meals.  Although the mood was better, the unasked question still hung heavy in the air.

Until Varric asked it.  “So, Sunset, you gonna go home with your people?”

Praxis paused, a bit stuck by the sudden question but obviously not one she hadn’t already thought about throughout day.  “I don’t know.  I might.  It depends.”

“Depends?”  Mahanon’s interest was piqued, possibly coached by Leliana to ferret out any details that would suggest Praxis’ true loyalty.

Bull turned to focus on his Spitfire, his Kadan. 

“I don’t know who sent them, as I mentioned earlier.  Without knowing their motive for being here I can’t be sure how to engage.”

Dorian spoke up.  “But you are certain they are here for something other than yourself?” 

She chuckled, “As much as we believe in ‘no man left behind’, the amount of resources it would take for them to accomplish a portal like that can’t be justified for the retrieval of one person.”  She rubbed her face and blew out a sigh of acceptance.  “All I know for certain is that whatever reason they are here for, I will do whatever it takes to protect the Inquisition and its people.”

She leveled her gaze at Mahanon.  “I know you have no reason to believe me, but there it is.”

The Inquisitor’s silent nod spoke volumes.  He respected her work up to this point, but no longer trusted her to be faithful.  A wise move, but it clearly irritated Dorian judging from the way he narrowed his eyes at his lover. 

She smiled back, accepting his skepticism.  “No hard feelings, Your Worship.”  She bid everyone a good night and slipped off to Bull’s tent. 

As if on cue, the moment she was gone the party huddled closer together and gave Dorian intense stares.  Hurried whispers came out as everyone had questions about what sort of warriors they were going to meet.  Bull didn’t listen long.  Dorian hadn’t spent his time in her world learning about their military might.  All of his useless observations hinged around the culture, the food and the entertainment. 

Bull left the group to their hushed speculation.  In his tent, Praxis lay with her hands folded behind her head staring at the roof, her mind a million fathoms away. 

“Can’t sleep?”

She startled at his words, only registering his presence when he spoke.  “Oh, yeah. No.  Who could?”  It wasn’t long before Bull was down to his smalls and sitting cross legged next to her.  She laid her head in his lap and let him pluck her braids loose. 

Her voice was slightly muffled as her mouth worked next to his skin.  “My brother got married.  They’ve lived together for the past twelve years in the same town doing the same jobs.  They have two kids who go to school, come home, then go to school the next day.  It’s so routine, so constant.”

She ran her fingers over his thigh, tracing an invisible pattern only she could see but somehow it encouraged her to continue.  “They make long term plans and they actually happen.  There’s hardly any change or disruptions or vast unknowns.  I can’t understand that kind of life.  That kind of consistency.”

She didn’t want a normal life.  She didn’t want to walk away form chaos, the fighting…could she have ever been happy with The Chargers?  A waste of thought.  It clearly wouldn’t happen now.

Bull watched her eyes pinch closed, holding back a wave of emotion that threatened to spill out.  “I don’t want that.  I can’t handle that, but I think I’ll have to.”  She twisted to rest on her back and look up at him.  “The gateway they’ve created must be destroyed and I can’t be certain that will happen if I stay here.”

Bull wasn’t sure if it made things better or worse knowing that she didn’t want to leave.  He’d gotten glimpse of her people’s capabilities at Cryen.  Another reminder of why the Qunari kept the recipe for Gaatlock a secret.  To imagine an entire army outfitted with such weapons...

“So, your brother has a boring job.  What about his husband?  What does he do?”  The only sensible thing to do was to change the subject to something safe.  She’d always missed her family, she had to be at least a excited to see them again.

He was rewarded with a bubbling giggle.  “Chris?  Oh, man he’s such a nerd!”  She bit her lip and rolled her eyes as she thought.  “I’m not sure how to describe his job with a vocabulary you’ll recognize.  He works with computers, some kind of game developer.”

“I’m going to guess that isn’t as simple as I am picturing.”

She laughed and sat up to coax Bull to lay down in their shared bedroll.  “No, and honestly I’m not sure where to begin.  Let’s just say it takes a lot of planning, and tons of people.”  She wiggled her way into the crook of his arm, wrapping her arm over his chest.  With her face pressed on him, he felt her smile grow as she breathed in his musk deeply.

“Oh, Inamorato.”

They were both tense, forcing themselves to relax for the other’s benefit.  Bull could have forced the conversation, but what good would that do?  The path forward was clear.  They only had two nights left together. 

“Kadan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all who enjoyed this drabble. I'll be taking a small break to work on two Fenders stories before coming back to finish up Part II of this journey.
> 
> My many thanks for the kudos and comments, it's always a joy to read!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues

Part II can be found here  
[My Heart's Blood](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7110814/chapters/16153180)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Strange New Worlds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7120642) by [thunderscape7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderscape7/pseuds/thunderscape7)




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